


never knew daylight could be so violent

by wvlfqveen



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alive Auguste, Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvlfqveen/pseuds/wvlfqveen
Summary: Jord wants to date, but Auguste's one strict rule -no dating before Laurent does- puts a dent in his plans. Laurent will take some convincing.Damianos Akielos might help with that.





	1. Laurent

It’s a Monday like all other Mondays when Laurent steps foot on his high school parking lot, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and grabbing his other books before shutting the door with a nudge of his hip and locking it. Kind of peaceful, too, the noise of the parking lot a hum in the background, until someone on a skateboard slams into him and sends his books flying.

“Hey!,” the skateboard guy says, stumbling. He looks up and fear twists his face as he recognizes who he stumbled into. 

“Uh, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, getting off his skateboard completely and bending to help Laurent with his stuff.

“Leave it,” Laurent tells him. The guy persists so Laurent slams a hand down onto his stuff, making the guy look up.

“Leave. It,” Laurent repeats firmly. The guy nearly slips on his skateboard in his attempt to leave fast enough. Laurent picks up his stuff and marches to the school without a backward glance. The crowd parts for him like the Red Sea.

 

***

Laurent gets to his locker without further incident. He pointedly ignores the giant prom poster on the wall beside his locker, slamming his door on it for good measure. Jord leans against the locker on his other side barely a moment later. 

“Good morning,” Laurent greets pleasantly. “Did you get your fill of Nikandros-staring today?”

“Dick,” Jord says, just as pleasantly. “I managed to not totally fuck up during our French tutoring session at least.”

“You’re French. Surely he doesn’t have that much power,” Laurent says, even though he knows it’s not true. Jord gives him an exasperated look, then glances off behind Laurent with a dreamy look on his face Laurent recognizes immediately. 

He looks in the same direction as he shuts his locker, and sure enough, Nikandros is on the other side of the hallway with his friends, pretty Pallas, older Makedon (doing an extra year), the beautiful sophomore Erasmus, and-

“Who’s the big one?,” Laurent asks, frowning. The guy is huge, easily towering over his friends, even Makedon and Nikandros who are nowhere near small, and his skin is smooth and darker than Nikandros’. His black curly hair is pulled back into a loose bun. His biceps, spilling out of his tight t-shirt, are each bigger than Laurent’s head.

When he finishes his observation and turns back, Jord is looking at him with narrow eyes. Laurent lifts a cool eyebrow. 

“That’s Damianos,” Jord finally says. “He was gone for a year, visiting relatives in Greece or something like that. I don’t remember him being that big, though.”

Laurent snorts inelegantly and pushes off his locker just as the first warning bell rings. He and Jord say their goodbyes and go off to their classes, and Laurent does not spare a moment’s thought for Damianos. Or his biceps.

* * *

 

Laurent’s first couple of classes are all the same, banal experience, until English, where he spots Damianos sitting in the back immediately. He’s hard to miss, sitting sprawled on his seat beside the window he’s staring out of. Erasmus sits in front of him and Laurent can see, despite the distance, that Erasmus looks very admiring. 

Whatever. None of his business. 

He sits at his assigned desk in the middle of the room and waits for Guion to start the class. Guion, one of his uncle’s friends, has always had it out for Laurent, especially since Laurent refuses to curb his sharp tongue even in a school setting. 

In short, Guion hates him. And Laurent hates him right back. 

Guion finally rises from his desk and dives into an analysis of Hemingway’s  _ The Old Man and the Sea _ , and Laurent does not attempt to keep his eye rolls to himself, but bites back his comments. 

“...And I guess that’s all for our analysis of  _ The Old Man and the Sea _ . Anything to add,” Guion says, tone sharper “Mr. de Vere?”

Laurent rises from his desk to no few groans from the class. He makes himself stand tall, and he knows his eyes are cold as he stares Guion down.

“Plenty,” Laurent says in the same tone. “Frankly, I fail to see why we’re analyzing a story by a misogynistic abuser when there are so many great stories out there written by better people, by women, by people of colour. But I guess you have no problem with abusers, do you,  _ sir _ ?”

The class titters at that last comment. No one in the class -except Govart, the brutish football player that Uncle probably pays to make Laurent life hell during school, and Guion- knows what he means, but it’s still a heavy implication. 

“Mr. de Vere-,” Guion tries, sweating visibly, but Laurent is not nearly done.

“I guess you think just because Hemingway is a man and an asshole, he’s automatically worthy of our time,” he continues.

“Enough,” Guion hisses. “To the guidance counselor. Now.”

Laurent rolls his eyes and gathers his stuff. He turns around, casting a cool look around the room, and his eyes meet Damianos’. He’s infuriated to see he’s not ugly or harsh-featured as he expected him to be to match his size, all high cheekbones and a straight nose and big, brown eyes, and those eyes are staring at him not with dislike like most in the room, but interest. Laurent’s steps do not falter. He gets out of the class and does not slam his door on the way out, lest Guion thinks he has managed to make Laurent feel anything other than absolute boredom. 

***

“Hello Laurent,” the guidance counselor, Paschal, greets, watching mildly as Laurent sprawls on the seat across from him like it’s his throne. “You’ve been terrorizing Mr. Guion again, I hear.”

“Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action,” Laurent counters. 

“Well, compared to your usual M.O., this was practically gentle,” Paschal allows. “I trust you saw Govart’s collarbone healed well, thank you for asking.”

“I still maintain he broke his collarbone himself,” Laurent says. Paschal smiles tightly.

“The point is, dear, people perceive you as somewhat…”

Laurent grins sharply. “Cold?”

“Cast-iron bitch is the most-used term,” Paschal says simply. 

“I’m so proud,” Laurent says, and he means it. 

“You might want to work on that. Dismissed.”

Laurent gets up with a snort and gathers his stuff, sharp smile still in place. “As always, thank you for your guidance,” he says, and leaves.

***

He meets Jord and Orlant, his other friend, outside in the courtyard at their usual table. Laurent sets his stuff down and climbs up on the table, pulling his own lunch out of his bag. 

“How was English?,” Jord says as Laurent stabs a piece of fruit with his fork. 

“A learning experience,” Laurent says flatly. Orlant snorts. 

“What did Guion do this time?,” he asks knowingly. Laurent tosses his hair back and sets his food down to tie it up into a ponytail. It’s getting too long for comfort (just below his shoulder blades now) but Laurent is loath to cut it. 

“Breathe,” Laurent replies, picking his food up again. Jord and Orlant laugh, but Jord stops abruptly. Laurent turns, already knowing what he’ll see.

Nikandros, Damianos, Erasmus and Makedon are all walking in their direction, likely on their way to the football field. Nikandros smiles at Jord as they come closer, and Laurent can see Jord tense up like he’s been electrocuted. 

“Hey, Jord,” Nikandros greets warmly. “Hi Orlant, Laurent,” he adds, voice considerably colder by the time he reaches Laurent. Laurent smiles viciously. 

“Be nice,” Jord hisses at Laurent. “Hey Nikandros, Erasmus, Makedon. And you’re Damianos, right?”

The guy in question smiles, and Laurent’s stomach does an annoying swoop at the sight. He ignores it, like he ignores that one dimple that shows up briefly on his cheek.

“Yeah, nice to _ finally _ meet you,” Damianos says, voice deep and warm, and extends his hand for a shake. Jord shakes it, and Laurent tilts his head at Nikandros’ slightly flushed cheeks. 

“This is Orlant,” Jord says, indicating the redhead beside him, “and Laurent. Ignore everything he says. He’s three vipers in a trenchcoat.”

Laurent looks at Jord.  “How dare you insinuate I would ever wear a trenchcoat,” he deadpans, and has to look up at Damianos as he laughs at his quip. 

His eyes glitter. “Nice to meet you all,” he says, looking straight at Laurent. “Please call me Damen.”

“Damen,” Laurent echoes curtly. Damen grins. 

“Anyway,” Nikandros says pointedly. He really loathes Laurent, even more than the average student at their school. “You guys have any plans for prom?”

Jord sighs forlornly. “No,” he says. “I’m not allowed to get a date until Laurent does.”

Nikandros scowls at Laurent like it’s his fault, which it kind of is. Laurent ignores him and bites into a strawberry. “Why?”

“Auguste’s rule. He’s heard one too many stories at his work and he doesn’t want us dating people until we’re like, 80,” Jord explains. 

Althoug Laurent and Jord are not related, their families have always been close, and Auguste was Jord’s parents’ first candidate for Jord’s upbringing in their will. They died when Jord and Laurent were still in middle school, both from cancer three months apart. Since then, Auguste has practically raised Jord and Laurent by himself after the vicious court battle between Auguste and Laurent’s uncle. 

“What does he do?,” Makedon asks. 

“He’s an andrologist,” Laurent says, and he’s unable to keep the note of pride out of his voice, always present when talking about his brother. 

“Yeah,” Jord says. “So you know. Too many stories.”

The guys wince in understanding. “But that doesn’t seem fair,” Nikandros continues. “To forbid you from dating until Laurent does.”

“Why don’t you find a date then?,” Damen asks Laurent, tilting his head like an overgrown puppy. Laurent regards him coolly. 

“Three vipers, remember?”

Damen’s lips twitch at that. “But still, you-”

“Why don’t you pretend to date someone?,” Erasmus asks. 

Orlant snorts. “Are you kidding? Auguste would never fall for it. He’d need proof.”

“I’ll date when I want to date,” Laurent says firmly. “Besides, Jord doesn’t have a date either,” he adds, and looks straight at Nikandros. Nikandros flushes faintly around the scowl that’s practically permanent when Laurent is concerned. 

Aimeric walks by table then, flashing his sweetest smile at Jord. “Hey, Jord.”

Jord blinks at his retreating back. 

“Who’s that? I don’t remember him,” Damen asks.

“Aimeric,” Nikandros growls, still staring after the guy in question. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity.”

“Don’t blame him,” Orlant says with a shrug, but his eyes are sharp on Nikandros. “Have you seen those legs?,” he asks, nudging Jord. Jord flushes. 

Nikandros’ expression nearly makes Laurent laugh, but he hides it with another bite into his food. When he looks up, Damen is looking at him knowingly, and Laurent scowls at the fact that he has been so easily read. 

“Well, we should get going,” Makedon starts, clapping Nikandros’ shoulder. “We’ll see you guys later.”

They all leave with nods and waves, Damen’s eyes lingering on Laurent. Laurent makes himself not react. 

“Dude,” Orlant says, turning to Jord. “He totally likes you.”

“I’m going to beg Auguste when I get home,” Jord says desperately. Laurent nearly snorts.

***

The rest of the school day is much more dull, and Laurent manages to not “terrorize” anyone specific again. Jord, Orlant and Laurent meet by the entrance of the school and walk to Laurent’s car. Laurent is silent, but Jord and Orlant are talking about their classes, speculating about how good Shakespeare must have been in bed. 

“I’m telling you, have you read his works?,” Orlant asks, gesticulating wildly. “Guy had a  _ mouth  _ on him.”

“It’s not his mouth I’m doubting,” Jord says, grimacing. “It’s his hygiene.”

“Give the man some credit. He was a white guy in the 1500s. They didn’t know what soap was.”

“Hey, Jord, Orlant, Laurent,” Aimeric says, engaging Jord from Orlant’s other side, since there’s no way he’d ever attempt to get between Jord and Laurent. He smiles charmingly. “You need a ride?”

“Lovely K-mart ad, by the way, Aimeric. I knew I recognized that elbow from somewhere,” Laurent says. Orlant has to turn his head away from Aimeric to giggle silently. Aimeric sneers. 

“Ah yes, actually,” Jord says hurriedly. “Let’s go Aimeric.” He gives Laurent and Orlant an angry look, and follows Aimeric to his car. Laurent snorts. 

“What a dickhead,” Orlant says as they open the backseat doors of Laurent’s car to dump their stuff before getting in the front. “Pretty though.”

Laurent twists his key and plugs in his phone. Sia’s “Elastic Heart” blares from his speakers before he lowers the volume to an acceptable level. “Depends on your tastes, I suppose,” he allows, as he back out from his parking spot. 

He can hear Orlant’s grin. “Yeah? And who’s more to your taste? Damen, perhaps?”

Laurent sends him a cool look as he drives down the road away from the school. He is, actually, grinning, and it gets wider at the look Laurent sends him. 

“I saw your face when he smiled at you, you know. Just for a split second.”

“You saw nothing,” Laurent denies. “Because there was nothing.”

“Whatever you say,” Orlant says, and changes the song to Imelda May’s “[Big Bad Handsome Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPPsze3ROjA)” just to annoy Laurent. 

* * *

Laurent gets home before Jord, even though he had to detour to Orlant’s house to drop him off. He puts his bag away and changes to sweats and one of Auguste’s old band t-shirts that he never wears anymore (something he does only around Auguste and Jord) before going down to the kitchen to start heating up leftovers for when Auguste gets home.

Jord comes in just as Laurent is storing the food away to preserve their warmth. Laurent clicks his tongue. 

“How was the ride?,” he asks. Jord flushes.

“I don’t know,” he says, sitting down at the kitchen bar. “Weird. He’s really pretty and if I didn’t like Nikandros…”

“I know,” Laurent says, because he does. Jord isn’t exactly known for his subtlety. “He’d break your heart into a million pieces.”

“Like you’ll do to Damen?,” Jord asks, and Laurent drops a plate. It doesn’t break.

The front door opens before Laurent can answer Jord, and a moment later Auguste comes in the kitchen, bright-eyed even after a day at his office. “Hello,” he says pleasantly, ruffling Jord’s hair. He grabs the mail and starts rifling through it. “How are you Jord?”

“Good,” Jord says, looking up at Auguste with obvious admiration. Auguste always inspires that in people. “How was work?”

“Exhausting,” Auguste admits. He sets the important mail down and throws the junk in the trash before approaching Laurent to pull him into a side-hug. “And how’s my little brother? Make anyone cry today?”

“Sadly no,” Laurent says, slipping out of his hug and finally picking up the dish. “But it’s only four-thirty.”

Auguste chuckles at that, even though he knows Laurent is being sincere. “There’s mail for you from Fortaine University.”

Laurent abandons the food to Auguste’s capable hands and rushes over to the mail pile. Sure enough, an envelope addressed to him by the university sits there, and Laurent rips into it quickly. He reads through it and his heart leaps.

“Well?,” Jord asks. Both men are looking at Laurent expectantly, although Auguste does not look as excited. Laurent tries to ignore that.

“I got in,” he announces calmly, although he can’t help the smile that takes over his face. 

“Laurent-” Auguste starts, with a tone Laurent knows well. Laurent looks up.

“Ask Jord who drove him home,” he says sweetly. Auguste looks at Jord, who’s scowling at Laurent.

“Who drove you home?,” Auguste asks, a crease appearing between his brows.

“A boy…,” Jord starts hesitantly. “Who I don’t even like!,” he rushes to finish at the look on Auguste’s face.

Auguste’s face doesn’t change much. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t-”

“He likes another boy,” Laurent reveals, tucking the envelope in his sweatpants pocket. 

“Oh, come on,” Jord says, glaring at Laurent. 

“You know the rules, Jord,” Auguste says simply, shaking his head. “No dating till Laurent dates.”

Jord groans. “But Auguste-”

A beep from Auguste’s pocket makes Auguste sigh. “I gotta go back to the office,” he says, grabbing one of Laurent’s tupperware. “Be good,” he says, and is out the door in a flash.

Jord turns to scowl at him. “Do you really have to be so difficult?”

Laurent blinks at him. “Yes.”


	2. Jord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jord Is The Best Friend In The World: This Is His Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am. sO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY!!! life is hectic right now and i swear i havent even been near a laptop in more than a week! thank you for your patience!!
> 
> this is jord's pov! as always, please leave kudos/feedback if you want, and thank you for reading! you can always find me at @andrvmaches on twitter. xoxo

Jord walks into the classroom used for early-morning tutoring sessions, butterflies already rioting in his stomach. Nikandros looks up and smiles at him as he slides into the seat next to him.

“Bonjour,” Nikandros greets.

Jord laughs. “Your accent is getting better.”

“Bonjour is not that hard to say,” Nikandros says, mock-offended. His smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “But I do have a good teacher.”

Jord flushes. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he says, trying to sound firm. Nikandros’ smile gets bigger. “We need to talk about Laurent.”

Nikandros’ smile disappears. “Do we, really?”

“Look, let’s not pretend we don’t know what this is,” Jord says decisively, managing to look him in the eye. “You like me right?”

Nikandros looks startled, but he nods. Jord smiles.

“I like you, too. But I can’t date you till Laurent dates. Auguste is too important to me. I can’t go behind his back with this.”

Nikandros nods reluctantly. “I understand. But Laurent?”

“We need to find him a date,” Jord says. Nikandros snorts. “No, hear me out. You saw how Damen looked at him.”

Nikandros groans. “Jord, I can’t just throw my best friend right into the shark’s mouth.”

Jord rolls his eyes. “I doubt he’ll see it that way.”

“He’s weak for blondes,” Nikandros grumbles in confirmation. “Even if he asks Laurent out, what makes you think Laurent will accept?”

“He won’t,” Jord says. “Not if Damen doesn’t break through his defenses first. Laurent is slow to trust and even slower to like someone. Damen needs to be patient and persistent, and he looks like he’ll be respectful about it.”

Nikandros stares at him. “How do you know so much about my best friend?”

Jord shrugs. “People talk. And despite the fact that he looks like he could rip Laurent in half,” Nikandros snorts at that “I know he won’t. Can you convince him?”

Nikandros laughs wryly. “He won’t need much convincing. But sure,” he smiles at Jord “if it gets me a date with you.”

Jord smiles and opens his notes. “Alright. Let’s do some French.”

* * *

At lunch, Jord manages to evade Laurent and goes to sit at Nikandros’ table in the cafeteria. Damen smiles at him. He is actually criminally good looking, and if Jord didn’t like Nikandros so much he would definitely be over the moon to be on the receiving end of that smile.

“Hi Jord,” he greets. “How come you’re joining us today?”

Nikandros slides in next to him. Their thighs touch, sending a thrill up Jord’s spine.

“We wanted to ask you something,” Nikandros says, biting his lip. Damen looks between them and raises his eyebrows in question.

“Here’s the thing,” Jord starts, since Nikandros looks like he’s not talking any time soon, opting instead to dig into his lunch. “You know how I can’t date until Laurent does.”

Damen nods, starting to look confused at the choice of topic.

“So, I need to find him a date, because I want to date your best friend,” Jord says. Damen doesn’t look surprised.

“Yes, I know,” Damen says, then laughs when Nikandros chokes on his sandwich. He reaches forward to clap him on the back. Nikandros shakes with the force of it. “I’m not _that_ unobservant, you know. It’s obvious how you two feel about each other.

He looks at them for a moment and his smile falls. “Wait, you want _me_ to date him?”

Nikandros opens his mouth to speak but Damen beats him to it.

“No, no, no, Nik. You know I love you but I can’t do this. Number one,” he says, lifting a finger. “He’ll eat me alive. Number two,” he continues, lifting another finger “it’s kind of unethical. Number three, did I mention he’ll eat me alive?”

“It’s not unethical if you want to do it because of Laurent. You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

Damen’s mouth twists. “Have you seen him?”

“Fair enough,” Jord says. “So why don’t you?”

Damen bites his lip. “If he finds out why I’m doing it-”

“You’re not just doing it for us,” Nikandros says, exasperated.

“Yeah, but you’re a big part of it. I don’t think he’ll appreciate that.”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Jord argues, although he knows it’s unlikely that he won’t. It’s Laurent, after all. “What do you say? I’ll help you win his heart and you help me and Nikandros date?”

Damen thinks about it for a moment. “Fine,” he sighs. “You’re lucky I’m interested.”

Jord grins in victory, feeling only slightly guilty. He bends close to Damen to start hashing out a plan of action.

* * *

 He meets Laurent in the Thai diner across the street from the school to make up for his absence at the beginning of lunch. Laurent raises an eyebrow at him as he sits down across from him with his order.

“Were you with Nikandros?,” Laurent asks without preamble. To his credit, Jord barely blinks.

“Yes. He wanted to clarify something from our French tutoring session this morning.”

Laurent snorts and picks up a few noodles. “Yeah, right. That’s what he wanted.”

Jord grins. “How about you? Make anyone cry?,” he asks, echoing Auguste. Laurent smiles sharply.

“Not yet, although Guion came close today.”

“Why do you bait him so?,” Jord asks, digging into his food. He chews and swallows before speaking. “He’s too weak to keep up with you.”

Laurent’s smile doesn’t diminish. “I know.”

Jord rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Are we still going to that exhibit tomorrow night?”

“You know I like Halvik and her daughters,” Laurent says, referring to the women organizing the exhibit. “Of course.”

“Nice. Lazar is coming, too. He’s not working tomorrow.”

“Oh, good,” Laurent says. To anyone else he might sound cold and uninterested but Jord knows he has no problem with Lazar, their friend who graduated two years ago. “We’ll meet him there, I suppose.”

“Yup,” Jord confirms. “He wants to introduce us to his boyfriend, apparently. You need to be on your best behaviour.”

Laurent’s eyes glint. “Aren’t I, always?”

***

They go on separate ways after lunch, Jord heading to Biology, a class he shares with Damen, Nikandros and the rest of their group bar Erasmus, and unfortunately Govart along with a few of his cronies Jord never remembers the names of.

They’re dissecting frogs today, with mixed results. Nikandros and Jord are doing fine, trying not to look too much at each other because it’s shit on their concentration, but Isander, Damen’s lab partner, seems to be close to throwing up.

“It’s just so gross,” Isander whines, a hand over his mouth. “Poor frog.”

“It’s alright, Isander,” Damen assures him kindly. Jord doubts he does anything unkindly. “I’ll handle the dissecting part. You handle the notes, okay? Your hand-writing is better than mine.”

Isander flushes at the compliment. Govart leans across the aisle with his patent sneer, and Isander tenses. Damen straightens to his full height.

“Having trouble, sweetheart?,” Govart asks. Damen puts a comforting hand on Isander’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the concern,” Damen says flatly, and Jord is surprised to see a flash of fear in Govart’s eyes. He wonders what Damen’s face looks like right now. “But we have it covered.”

Govart recovers, and he curls his lip again. “I’m sure you do,” he says, with a pointed look up and down Damen’s body. Isander flushes at the implication. Damen does not react, so Govart turns back to his own table, where he and his lab partner are making their frogs fuck.

Jord looks at Nikandros. “I think Damen has a bigger chance with Laurent than I realized.”

Nikandros looks at his friend. The line of his shoulders is not tense anymore, and he and Isander seem to be working fine together now.

“I just don’t want Laurent to break his heart,” Nikandros says. Jord smiles.

“You’re loyal,” Jord says, pride and affection colouring his voice.  “But they’re both going to make their own choices in this relationship. We can only help them so much.”

Nikandros sighs, and sets his scalpel down to touch Jord’s hand. Jord twists his palm up so they can wind their fingers together.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Nikandros says.

 _I know_ , Jord thinks, squeezing Nikandros’ hand. _Me too._

* * *

 Jord waits until that evening, when both he and Laurent are home alone, to approach Laurent. He pushes Laurent’s door open hesitantly. Laurent is sitting cross-legged on his bed, typing something furiously on his laptop, headphones in. He looks up when Jord steps fully into the room and takes his headphones off. The tinny voice of Florence Welch reaches Jord’s ears.

“Florence, huh? You’re in a mood.”

Laurent scowls and turns back to his laptop. The music pauses, but Laurent resumes typing. “What do you want?”

“Just talk,” Jord says, sitting down across Laurent. He crosses his legs like Laurent and waits till Laurent finishes typing. He sets his laptop aside with a sigh.

“What?,” Laurent asks.

Jord bites his lip. “Can I ask you something personal?”

Laurent’s eyes turn only slightly cold and guarded. Family privilege. “Depends.”

Jord puts his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Just...if someone were to ask you out -hear me out-” he says, because Laurent looks suspicious instantly “if someone were to ask you out...what would your ideal date be?”

Laurent doesn’t answer right away, face twisted in suspicion. “If this is you trying to get me a date so you can date Nikandros-”

“So what if I am?,” Jord bites. “Would it be so bad to just go on one date? Don’t you want to help me?”

Laurent frowns. “Of course I do. But I want to date someone because I want to, not as a favour to anyone.”

Guilt grips Jord suddenly and painfully. He puts his hand on Laurent’s shoulder hesitantly. It’s a good thing Laurent doesn’t shake him off. “I would never force you to do something you don’t want,” Jord promises. “I’m just begging you to be a little more open-minded.”

Laurent stares at him. “You got anyone specific in mind?”

Jord grins pleadingly. “Damianos Akielos.”

Laurent’s mouth drops open. He makes a strangled noise. “You have to be kidding me.”

“He’s not that bad!,” Jord says defensively, retracting his hand. “He’s actually really nice and he’s not bad-looking.”

Laurent looks at him, wide-eyed and vulnerable in his disbelief. “He’s a brute! And he never talks in class. There’s no way we can even hold a conversation!”

“Don’t be so sure,” Jord says. “Just- give him a chance.”

Laurent points his finger at him. “If he’s looking to fuck-”

“Laurent!,” Jord protests. “He’s not looking for _anything._ He’s really a pretty decent guy, okay? Just trust me on this.”

Laurent’s mouth thins. Jord holds his breath.

“Fine,” Laurent spits out just as Jord is about to go blue in the face. He inhales sharply. “But if he does anything,” Laurent continues with meaning. “I’m not responsible for any damage done to his person.”

“Okay,” Jord says quickly. “Great. That’s all I wanted. Thank you, Lau.”

Laurent’s eyes soften infinitesimally. “You’re welcome. Now get out before I change my mind.”

Jord smiles and does just that. He needs to call Nikandros anyway.


	3. Damen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen You Useless Bisexual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in a day to make up for my absence!! enjoy my son damen! the translations for the few greek words are in the notes at the end!! xoxo

Damen nearly faceplants on the track when he notices Laurent sitting in the stands, and Makedon, running beside him, full-out laughs at him. He recovers his footing and keeps running, but now that he’s noticed, the blond hair is hard to miss.

It’s the day of the art exhibit Pallas’ boyfriend has invited them to, where he and Jord agreed it would be best to start approaching Laurent, and Damen can admit he’s nervous. He hasn’t talked to Laurent since the day Jord introduced them, but he can’t help his lingering glances in class and during lunch. Laurent is painfully his type, as Nikandros has grumbled a thousand times in the span of half a week, from his long, blond hair, to the cold blue eyes and his lean but seemingly fine-muscled body, which is always unfortunately hidden by long sleeves and tightly buttoned shirts, despite the heat of the season. And he’s interesting too, unflinchingly strong in the face of mockery from their classmates (Govart at their head) and always ready with a smart quip.

But what is he doing here? It’s after school, and Laurent should be home by now. Damen would have noticed him before if he made a habit of hanging out around the field. 

The team finishes their warm up and set out to do drills on the field, so Damen, the captain of the soccer team and thus supposedly the responsible, dedicated one, does not look back at him no matter how much he wants to. 

But he can’t stop himself once they finish and the team disperses to go change and shower. He glances at him, but Laurent is still bent over a book. 

The only people that notice how fast Damen is going in the changing room are Makedon and Nikandros. Makedon looks amused. Nikandros looks vaguely constipated. 

“I’m doing this for you,” Damen says, one hand on the towel wrapped around his waist, the other pointing at his friend. Nikandros snorts.

“Oh yes, you’re obviously sacrificing everything for this,” Nikandros deadpans. Makedon laughs. 

“Shut up,” Damen grumbles, cheeks heating. He drops the towel and pulls on his underwear and jeans, then his white t-shirt. He lets his hair down to air-dry and rushes back out with a spared wave to his friends. 

Laurent is still there when Damen climbs up the stands, although he looks up when Damen approaches. 

“I thought a bear was climbing up the stands with the way they were shaking,” Laurent says drily as soon as Damen is in front of him. Damen smiles indulgently and sits in front of him and off to his side so he doesn’t block the view of the field. He straddles the bench. 

“Does that make you Goldilocks?,” Damen asks. Laurent gives him a look as dry as his tone, but his lips twitch. Damen grins widely in response. 

“No,” Laurent denies, and puts his book (“Bad Feminist” by Roxane Gay) away. 

“Is that book good?,” Damen asks. Laurent contemplates him.

“It is,” Laurent says, and leaves it at that. “I don’t know if Jord already told you, but I know he and Nikandros have convinced you to date me so they can date.”

Damen feels his cheeks heat again. “That’s not the only reason I’m doing it.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “You find me attractive,” he says knowingly. 

“And witty and funny and smart as a whip,” Damen supplies. Surprise flits by in Laurent’s eyes for a moment before he gets it under control. “But I won’t lie that you’re very much my type.”

“I don’t think you are capable of lying at all,” Laurent says, and it doesn’t sound like judgment. 

Damen smiles. “I don’t like doing it, no.”

Laurent hums, his eyes drifting toward the field. 

“So why exactly are you here?,” Damen asks. Laurent looks back at him. 

“If I give you a chance,” Laurent starts, posture tense and eyes cold again. “It will not give you the right to expect anything of me.”

Damen looks at him, the careful way he’s holding himself, thinks of the surprise in his eyes when Damen revealed his looks weren’t the only thing that drew him in, and knows exactly what he means. “You mean sex,” Damen states bluntly. “You think that’s why I’m doing this?” He doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Laurent, just because you’re attractive it doesn’t mean I expect anything from you, no matter if we go on actual dates or not. I would like to get to know you better though. The only thing I expect from you is to let me do that, even for a night.”

Laurent looks surprised again. “A night.” He echoes.

“I know you, Jord, and Orlant are going to that Vaskian Empire exhibition tonight. Pallas’ boyfriend already got us tickets so I’ll be there. We can hang out then, if you’d like.”

“Our first date and I’ll have Nikandros glaring at my back the whole night?,” Laurent asks, and Damen swears it’s almost teasing. He tries to keep his grin off his face and fails spectacularly. 

“It doesn’t have to count as our first date. More like a pre-first date,” Damen allows. Laurent’s lip curls at the corner like an apostrophe. 

“That implies you’ll get more dates,” Laurent notes. He gets up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, so Damen does, too. 

“Will I?”  Laurent eyes him. 

“We’ll see, I suppose,” he says, and leaves with a toss of his hair that looks unintentional. Damen tries not to sigh like a lovestruck fool, he really does. He walks to Nikandros’ car in a daze.

“Took you long enough,” his friend grumbles and Damen sits down and shuts the car door, throwing his bag in the backseat. He puts his seatbelt on. 

“We talked,” Damen says happily. “I think this might work.”

Nikandros rolls his eyes and hums a song under his breath.  _ “[Μόνο στα όνειρα](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKjOo7TeTbA)...μόνο στα όνειρα.” _

Damen laughs. “I like that song, you know.”

“I know,” Nikandros says wryly. “I swear you were born to love sometimes.”

“Wow, Nikandros. That was downright poetic.”

“ _ Σκάσε _ ,” Nikandros commands, and Damen spends the whole ride home laughing.

* * *

 

“How have you survived this long?,” Jokaste asks him, leaning against his doorway and obviously laughing at the panicked look on Damen’s face as he searches through his closet for a suitable outfit. 

“I have no idea,” Damen says honestly. “Help me.”

Jokaste rolls her eyes and steps further into the room. She’s wearing a pretty, dark blue dress, and her blonde hair is pinned up elegantly. 

“Tell me about this Laurent, my male counterpart,” Jokaste says as she starts rifling through his closet. Damen groans and flops down on his bed, still in just his underwear, fresh from a more thorough shower than the one he took after school in the changing room. 

“Did Nikandros tell you that?”

“So it’s true, then?,” Jokaste asks. Her back is still turned but Damen knows she’s smiling. “He’s my male counterpart?”

“He’s blond and vicious, so I guess so,” Damen allows. Jokaste hums.

“Incredible,” she says, finally pulling out black slacks and a silk red button down Damen forgot he owned and throwing both items in his face. “I’m glad I get to meet him.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you about this,” he tells her, putting the slacks on. They’re snug against his thighs but not uncomfortably so. Jokaste helps him with his shirt, buttoning it herself and leaving his collarbones exposed.

“Tie,” she demands. He hands the one on his wrist over, and even on her heels she has to stretch up on her tiptoes to pull his hair in a bun. She manages it, and stands in front of him again to pull out strands of hair so they frame his face. She nods to herself. 

“You won’t regret it, Damianos. I can control myself. I’m not Nikandros.” Damen snorts. “Now go put on cologne but not too much. We’re waiting for you downstairs.” She leaves. 

Damen glances at himself in his full-body mirror. He knows he’s good-looking, but he still finds himself thinking about Laurent and his opinion and what he’s going to look like. He shakes his head and goes to do what Jokaste says.

***

When they finally step inside the gallery, his eyes find Laurent right away even as Pallas introduces them all to the women holding the exhibit. He ignores the appreciative glances he gets from one of the main artist’s daughters. Jokaste notices of course, and slips her arm around his elbow.

“That’s him, then? My God, he  _ is  _ beautiful.”

He really is. He’s standing by a painting, talking to Jord, who has yet to notice their arrival. They’re both dressed similarly to Damen, in slacks and button downs, but Damen’s attention is caught and held anyway. His group finally excuses itself, and they all walk to them. Damen meets his eyes. 

“You decided to show then,” Laurent says in lieu of a greeting, voice deliberately flat. “Wonderful.”

“And sharp-tongued,” Jokaste whispers to him. “You got lucky, Damen.” Then louder, to Laurent. “We haven’t met.” She slips out of Damen’s grip and extends an elegant hand. “I’m Jokaste.”

“Damen’s girlfriend,” Laurent guesses. He doesn’t shake her hand but Jokaste’s smile gets wider. 

“Ex,” she corrects. Laurent’s expression changes minutely and Damen’s heart swells with hope.

He looks at Damen again. “You were not lying when you said I was your type.”

Jokaste laughs. Damen grins, far from embarrassed. “I never lie,” he says simply. Laurent stares at him for a beat. 

“I have a feeling you and I will be great friends, Laurent,” Jokaste says, and slips her arm around Laurent’s as casually as she did to Damen. Damen inhales sharply, sure Laurent will throw her off (he doesn’t look like he appreciates casual touching) but to his surprise, he doesn’t. 

“Only if you give me plenty of blackmail material against Damen,” Laurent says. Jokaste laughs, tossing her head back. 

“Deal,” she says, and Damen gets an intense feeling of foreboding. He looks at Nikandros and Jord, who are still standing beside him.

“Fucking told you so,” Nikandros says, and pulls Jord to the opposite direction.

* * *

Damen finally gets Laurent alone after half an hour of avoiding Jokaste and her knowing looks. He’s standing in front of a painting of a female warrior mid-spear thrust, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Halvik is great,” Damen says, coming to stand beside him. 

“She is,” Laurent agrees. “Jokaste is interesting.”

Damen smiles wryly. “You got all the blackmail material you needed?”

“You don’t have that much,” Laurent accuses, finally looking at him. “You’re actually boring.”

Damen shrugs. “I thought I was just being a good person all this time.” 

Laurent’s smile is as sharp as a knife. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s plenty of fun,” Damen argues. “So you like art, you like feminist books,” Damen says, recalling the book he was reading during soccer practice. “What else do you like?”

Laurent looks at him thoughtfully, as if weighing exactly what and how much he wants to share. Damen waits patiently. 

“Thai food,” Laurent admits finally. “Although not very spicy. Too white for that,” he adds, and Damen laughs. “Florence + the Machine if I’m particularly moody. I like Sia, too.”

“I can stand spicy food,” Damen says, smiling cheekily. “And I like the artists you mentioned. I can listen to about anything. I’m very fond of ballads in any language.”

“How many languages do you speak?,” Laurent asks. They start walking slowly, looking at the paintings without seeing them. 

“Three. English, French, and Greek.”

“Would you teach me?”

Damen looks at him surprised. “You want to learn Greek?”

“I’ll be seeing more of Nikandros now,” Laurent says drily. “I should probably know what he’s muttering about me.”

Damen shrugs. “That’s fair.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, walking through the gallery. Damen can’t help but sneak glances at him. His shirt is a deep, royal purple that brings out his pale complexion and the blond of his hair, and he’s wearing a long earring with stones of the same colour. Some kind of powder (probably) shines high on his cheekbones, and his eyelashes are long and dark with mascara. His hair is pulled back into a long braid that starts from the crown of his head, a few wispy strands framing his face like Damen’s.

“You’re staring,” Laurent acknowledges without facing him. 

“You’re beautiful,” Damen says simply, voice unintentionally warm. Laurent stops walking to stare at him. 

Damen does not flinch from the stare. He knows he has never been good at hiding his emotions so he doesn’t try in hopes of Laurent seeing how sincere he is. 

Laurent looks away and around. “I need to go find Jord,” he says abruptly and makes to walk away. Damen easily catches up with him. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Alone,” Laurent clarifies. “I need to- I need to go.”

Damen’s stomach drops. “Did I do something wrong?”

Laurent gives him a weird look. “No. You didn’t do anything. I’ll see you at school,” he promises, and leaves Damen in a rush.

Damen sighs, disappointed. Jord really wasn’t kidding when he said he had to be patient. 

But he remembers Laurent’s face, surprise and something else in his eyes at Damen’s compliment, and he thinks it’s definitely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Μόνο στα όνειρα...": lyrics from a greek love ballad. the rough translation of the part nikandros sings is "only in (our) dreams"
> 
> -"Σκάσε": shut up


	4. Laurent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent is avoiding Damen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! nothing much to add except that govart is a piece of shit and laurent is a cat person and you can fight me on BOTH. thank you xx

 Laurent is avoiding Damen. 

Well, kind of. Anyone watching him might think he’s just following his normal routine, but he makes a point of never lingering in the hallways, or at the tables outside at lunch, and he doesn’t even go near the field unless he’s in Gym class, where he takes more pride than ever in hitting Govart in the head with as many field hockey balls as possible. Jord tries to talk to him about it, but Laurent shuts him out, refusing to let guilt at not trying to help Jord and Nikandros gnaw at him. 

He doesn’t exactly know why he’s doing it. Damen’s face at the gallery- it was too much. Laurent has never been looked like that before, like he’s something precious, from people that aren’t Auguste or their mom before she died, and their looks were not exactly the same. Half the people in the school want to fuck him, and the other half want to kill him. 

The fact that Damen does not fall in either category (well not completely in the first one, anyway) does not sit well with him. 

Laurent is avoiding Damen, so of course he has to practically run into him during his Greek takeout run, a week after the gallery night.

Laurent pauses, a hand in his pocket curled around his car keys, warm, fragrant paper bag tucked under his armpit. Damen is leaning against the hood of his car, looking absurdly like a Greek statue with his well-muscled arms left bare by his tight t-shirt and his jawline sharp against the afternoon sun. He grins at Laurent like he hasn’t been avoiding him at all, dimple at full force.

“Didn’t know you like Greek food,” Damen says casually, leaning away from the car. Laurent pointedly doesn’t look at his jean-clad thighs as he stands up. 

“My brother does,” Laurent says flatly, trying to find his ground again. Damen’s smile drops, but only a little. “Are you stalking me?”

Then it’s right back again. Laurent wonders if his cheeks ever get tired. 

“I was in the laundromat,” he says, nodding back across the street. “I recognized your car and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” Laurent says and unlocks his car, setting the bag on the passenger seat before getting in himself. He opens his window. Damen comes around the front and leans close, a hand on top of the car. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Damen accuses, right to the point. Laurent thinks he’ll never be used to his blunt brand of honesty. 

“I’m not,” Laurent counters. Damen looks down at him knowingly, but the sound of car blasting music with too much bass stops him as it parks perpendicular to Laurent’s car’s rear. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damen mutters. He crosses his arms and Laurent glances in the mirror to avoid staring. He knows that car. 

Govart. 

He and his minions get out, pointedly ignoring Damen and Laurent. Laurent leans out of his window. 

“You mind?,” he asks Govart, nodding to his car. Govart sneers.

“Not at all,” he says, and goes into the liquor store beside the Greek restaurant. Laurent’s eyes narrow. He starts the car and backs right into Govart’s car, once, twice, three times, until he’s pushed it enough for him to back out of the parking spot. Damen looks at him with amusement in his eyes, and then Laurent speeds out of  the parking lot just as Govart runs outside.

* * *

 

Auguste stares down at him angrily, Greek food forgotten. 

“Did you really have to crash Govart’s car?”

“Absolutely,” Laurent says. “It was in my way. He shouldn’t have left it there.”

Auguste frowns at him, but for a moment amusement rears its head in his eyes -a blue darker than Laurent’s own- and Laurent grins at him. 

Auguste huffs, defeated. “You’re lucky we have enough money to cover his expenses.”

“Oh yes,” Laurent says wryly. “So lucky.”

“Laurent,” Auguste says, face darkening. “If Govart follows you to Fortaine I won’t be able to help you there.”

Laurent scowls. “Uncle can buy the whole damn campus for all I care. Fortaine has been my dream school since before….” He trails off. They both know how that sentence ends. 

Auguste sighs. “Just. You’ll take care of yourself, right?”

Laurent lifts his chin. “I always do.”

* * *

 

“A party,” Laurent states flatly, pushing away the invitation Jord thrusted in his face the moment he got to his locker. 

“Makedon’s party,” Jord clarifies, like Laurent might have missed the name in gigantic, obnoxious font at the top of the flyer.  “We’re going.’  Laurent gives him a look and grabs his books before shutting the door. 

“I’m not going to Makedon’s party,” Laurent says. He leans against the door. “You know how I feel about parties.”

“Yes,” Jord says, nodding sarcastically. “Too fun.” Laurent scowls at him. “Think about it. Damen will be there and you two can finally talk whatever happened to you out. You both look like something crawled up your ass and died.”

Laurent narrows his eyes, ignoring the jab at him. “Wait. What happened to Damen?”

Jord raises his eyebrows. “You mean you don’t know?”

Laurent looks at him. Aimeric chooses that moment to lean up against the locker behind Jord. No self-preservation instincts, that one.

“Hi Jord,” he says pleasantly. Jord turns around with a jolt.

“Oh, hi Aimeric. How are you?”

“Good, good. You going to that party?”

“That’s the plan,” he says. He sounds uncertain and Laurent knows it’s more of Aimeric’s attitude towards him than anything else. 

“Good, ‘cause I won’t bother if you’re there,” he says with a wink, and walks away. Jord blinks after him.

“Anyway,” Laurent says pointedly. Jord shakes his head like a wet dog. 

“Right, where was I? Damen. Well I saw him this morning and it looks like someone punched him in the jaw but by the look on his face I don’t think they’re among the living anymore. I mean what kind of person would even dare to actually- Laurent? Where are you going?”

Laurent, already marching off, turns back around. “What class does Damen have now?”

“Gym, I think,” Jord says, confused. “You have class.”

“I know,” Laurent says, and walks away.

Class is already underway when he gets to the field. Damen’s class is warming up, running laps around the track. Despite his size, Damen runs gracefully. Not a bear then. Maybe a very large lion. 

“De Vere!,” Miss Vannes, the gym teacher calls out, jogging to his side. A good bunch of boys look their way. Laurent doesn’t see if Damen is one of them. 

“Miss Vannes,” Laurent greets.

“What’s up, Laurent?,” she asks. She’s one of the youngest teachers in the school, filling in for the previous phys-ed teacher on paternity leave, and the only one who appreciates his sharp tongue.

“Can I pull Damen out of your class for a moment? I really need to talk to him.”

Miss Vannes looks at him knowingly. “This doesn’t have to do anything with the bruise on his jaw and his split lip, does it?”

“No,” he lies. 

Miss Vannes smiles. “If I agree, will you play one game of soccer for me? I’ll excuse you from class,” she assures him when he opens his mouth to protest. 

Laurent purses his lips. “Fine.”

Miss Vannes turns and blows her whistle. “Akielos! Come here.” She turns around again as Damen slowly makes his way over. “Don’t hurt him too much,” she says. “I actually like this one.” And then, “Five minutes, de Vere, and then a deal is a deal.” She blows her whistle again to get the guys moving and runs into her office. Nikandros scowls over at them but keeps running. 

Damen comes to a stop in front of him. There’s sweat gathering at his temples and at the hollow of his throat. He’s cut off the sleeves off the school’s Gym shirt and he looks large and imposing. 

Which just makes the bruise at his jaw and the split lip even more shocking. 

Laurent touches his jaw before he can think about it. It’s smooth and hot under his palm. “It was Govart, wasn’t it?”

Damen exhales shakily. Laurent removes his hand. 

“So what if it was?,” Damen asks gruffly, walking over to a bench. He plops down on it and grabs his water bottle, drinking the whole thing in a few quick gulps. He throws it to the garbage can without getting up. It gets in.

Laurent remains standing. It feels weird to look down at him for once. “Govart has...certain people who support him behind the scenes. Beating him was not smart.”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Damen argues. His jaw clenches and his eyes flash. Laurent’s pulse quickens at the sight. “About you, Jord, Nikandros, Isander-”

“He wanted to make you angry,” Laurent guesses. Damen looks down at his feet. His shorts have ridden up, exposing his strong thighs.

“And he did,” he says, looking up at him.

“I can pick my battles, Damen. I’ve been dealing with Govart for a long time.”

“He just- he just said something very demeaning and I didn’t like it. He had already started with Jord and Nikandros and Isander and then he said- he said something about you being a stone-cold prude but then he mentioned something….something about your uncle.”

Laurent’s blood goes cold. 

Damen is still looking at him, eyes searching, and then he’s up in a flash, fired up. “It’s true, then?”

“Damen-”

“Please tell me he’s either in jail or de-”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Laurent cuts in. He swallows back bile. “But yes, he’s in jail.”

Some of the fight seems to go out of Damen at that, but the fire in his eyes does not diminish. “Good,” he says, and he means it, because of course he does.  He sits back down at the bench. 

“Did you hurt him at least?”

Some of his humour returns in his eyes. “Him and his minions.”

“Good,” Laurent says, and he means it.

Damen’s face darkens again. “He thinks we’re fucking,” he admits. Laurent is not surprised, but he can’t help the tension in his shoulders. 

Laurent steps forward. “Well you wouldn’t mind that, would you?,” he asks softly.

Damen blinks at him, then frowns. “Of course I would. I like my partners to be willing.”

Laurent goes silent. “9 o’clock.”

“Huh?”

“Saturday, 9 o’clock. Make sure you and Nikandros are on time to pick us up. We’re going to Makedon’s party.”

Damen eyes him closely. “Govart might be there. He has a habit of crashing parties.”

Laurent puts his stuff down on the bench to tighten his ponytail. “Then let him come.”

“De Vere!,” Miss Vannes calls. Laurent looks up and gets assaulted with a handful of clothes; a pair of tiny cotton shorts, a -thankfully- clean pair of running shoes and a gym shirt than might fit him. He raises his eyebrows.

Miss Vannes smiles. “I thought you’d appreciate not having to wear a smelly uniform. Go change.” She throws him a bottle of sunblock. “And put some on. I don’t want your Royal Pastiness to get burned.”

“Are you this thoughtful with all your students?,” Laurent asks, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly. Miss Vannes snorts.

“Hurry up, Laurent, or I might just change my mind about excusing you for the rest of the period,” Miss Vannes threatens. Laurent bares his teeth into a semblance of a smile and goes to change.

When he comes back out, Damen’s class have already separated into two teams. Laurent resists the urge to tug down his shorts and walks onto the field with his head held high. Someone wolf-whistles.

“Guymar!,” Miss Vannes yells. “So help me God! You’re on Damen’s team, Laurent.” She grins at him. “Show them how it’s done.”

When he joins Damen at his side, he’s quite pointedly looking at his face. Laurent smirks at him. 

Damen clears his throat. “You play?”

Laurent’s smirk widens. 

“You could say that.”

***

“That was fucking beautiful, de Vere!,” Makedon yells at him later, when he comes out of the bathroom stall already changed and showered. 

Laurent had managed to score two goals, one of them the final winning goal for their team, and he suddenly has new friends.

He ignores the half-naked bodies around him and absolutely does  _ not  _ look around for Damen. “Thanks, I know,” he tells Makedon. 

He claps Laurent on the shoulder. “You’re coming to my party, right?”

“Yes,” Laurent says. Makedon grins down at him. 

“Awesome,” he says, and enters the stall. Laurent steps away and rolls his shoulder to relieve some of the tension gathering there again. 

“You did well,” Damen says from behind him. Laurent turns and wishes he hadn’t.

Damen had obviously just stepped out out of the showers, the towel slung around his waist only held up by his hand. His skin doesn’t turn pink like Laurent’s does under the hot water, but stays dark and smooth. Laurent can quite clearly see droplets running down his neck and the planes of his chest. 

“Thanks,” Laurent says, pinking infuriatingly. Damen stares at the blush rising in his cheeks and grins. 

“Cute,” he declares. “I’ll see you later.” He walks past him to his locker. Laurent looks away and leaves before he drops the towel.

* * *

 

Somehow, Damen gets his number, and Laurents just  _ knows  _ Jord is involved. He tries to curb the text onslaught with his most caustic remarks, but Damen is not deterred and simply starts sending him dog memes, not even stopping when Laurent reveals he’s a cat person.

Laurent flops down on Jord’s bed. It’s Saturday morning, the day of the party. Jord is, for some reason, sitting on his floor, his own phone in his hand. He doesn’t even look up at Laurent’s entrance. 

“I hate him,” Laurent says. His phone buzzes with Damen’s reply to his skateboarding skeleton meme. 

“No, you don’t. You’re showing him your meme collection, which only two people on this Earth have seen so far: me, and Auguste.”

Laurent stretches and snatches Jord’s phone up, turning on his stomach to look through his messages with Nikandros. Nikandros has sent him a pic of Damen, sitting cross-legged on someone’s bed, looking down at his phone with a huge smile on his face. His hair is in his usual bun, and he’s, for some  _ absurd  _ reason, shirtless.

Laurent huffs as Jord jumps flat on his back to get his phone but doesn’t put up a fight. 

“Admit it, Laurent,” Jord says, rolling off him and lying down properly.  “You don’t loathe him.” 

“I don’t,” Laurent admits easily. Damen is a hard person to loathe.

Jord grins at him. Laurent pushes his face away and checks his phone.

Damen:  _ so you refuse to admit you think that pug tucked in a blanket with a glass of wine by its side is the best meme there is but you have an entire skeleton meme collection? _

Laurent:  _ pugs are ugly _

Damen:  _ your FACE is ugly _

Laurent:  _ sounds fake _

Damen: _ i know _ .   _ i cant even lie over text _ .  _ Being a good person all the time is exhausting _

Laurent:  _ wow Mr. Akielos. Didn’t expect that from you _

Damen: _ i like it when you call me that _

“Oh my God, get out of my room,” Jord says. Laurent nearly jumps, having forgotten in whose room he was in. “Your smile is freaking me out.”

Laurent’s cheeks heat up. “Shut up.”

“Holy shit, you totally like him, don’t you?”

Laurent whacks him with his pillow. “No, I don’t.”

“You totally do. I’m telling Auguste.”

Laurent whacks him again until Jord tackles him and they fight to the point Auguste comes up to tell them to stop.


	5. Jord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party and a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! terribly sorry for the wait but i was studying for my uni entrance exam!!! i think it went well so fingers crossed that this hiatus was worth it
> 
> here comes jord! this chapter is long-ish....but im quite worried that i havent captured the regent's "voice" very well. let me know what you think in the comments!!! enjoy xx

“So,” Auguste says, looking between Jord and Laurent with narrow eyes. “These boys are real then?”

Jord resists the urge to roll his eyes. Laurent, sprawled on the couch beside him, does not.

They’re both ready for the party, waiting for Nikandros and Damen to pick them up. Auguste cannot quite believe they’ve gotten dates (Jord can hardly believe it himself) so he had demanded they sit and talk until they arrived.

“And you like this Nikandros?,” Auguste asks. Jord’s stomach swoops at the mere mention of his name. 

“Yes. He’s hilarious and loyal and kind and I feel safe and…. _ enough  _ when I am with him.”

Auguste’s eyes soften at the admission. “You have always been enough, Jord.”

Jord feels his ears get hot. “I know that now, Auguste.”

Auguste turns to Laurent, who stares back at him coolly. Jord has managed to force him into a tight blue shirt (long-sleeved, because Laurent was Laurent) that actually shows off the surprising amount of muscle he has, and equally tight black jeans. He has mascara on too, and that highlighter stuff he likes, but no other makeup, and his hair is in a braid that took Jord like two hours to do because he had to keep watching youtube tutorials for it.

“And you, little brother. You like this…”

“Damen,” Laurent supplies. “He’s...tolerable.”

“Oh my God,” Auguste says, turning to look at Jord with wide-eyed amusement “he’s practically in love with him.”

Laurent straightens up quickly, flushing. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says stiffly. “I didn’t say that.”

“Uh huh,” Auguste says disbelievingly. “Is he cute?”

“Yes.” “No.”

Laurent glares at Jord. Jord grins.

“He big,” Jord says meaningfully. Auguste laughs. 

“How big?”

Laurent makes an aggravated noise. “Can you both sh-” 

Someone is knocking on the door.

They all look up and then Auguste is quite literally shoving Laurent backwards onto the couch and sprinting to the door to open it himself. Laurent jumps up quickly and runs after him. Jord follows after them at a more reasonable pace. 

“Wow,” Auguste says. “You really weren’t kidding when you said he’s big.”

Jord snorts at the look on Laurent’s and Damen’s faces. “Hi guys,” he says, pushing Auguste a little out of the way. Both boys look handsome in their jeans and tight t-shirts (Damen’s is sleeveless, of course) and he tells them so.

Nikandros rubs the back of his neck. Jord stifles a grin at the gesture. “Thanks, you too,” he says, giving Jord an appreciative once-over. 

Auguste clears his throat. Laurent remains suspiciously silent. “Come in guys,” Auguste suggests, opening the door wider. 

Laurent is finally spurred into action. “No,” he says firmly, stepping out. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” Auguste says, just as firmly “you’re not. Not until I meet them.”

Laurent scowls. 

“It’s alright,” Damen says, smiling politely. He’s looking at Auguste with barely-concealed appreciation, which is highly disturbing but not at all surprising. “It’s very nice to finally meet Laurent’s big brother. He speaks of you very highly.”

Auguste looks at Damen with the narrowed-eyed intensity Laurent usually sports before tongue-lashing someone, but then he smiles, preening. “Of course he does. Come in, Damen, Nikandros,” he tells them again, clapping Damen on his shoulder. It’s weird to see them side by side; they’re both big and strong and close in height, but Auguste has the light de Vere colouring, and the way he holds himself makes it easier for people to forget that he could, in fact, probably wrestle someone like Damen and win.

Probably. 

They lead the boys to the living room and they all sit. Laurent returns to his previous seat, sprawling the same way, but Jord can tell he’s tense. 

“So, Damen.  _ Damianos _ . I don’t really know much about you. Your name sounds Greek.”

Damen nods. “My paternal grandparents immigrated here when my father was five. They left after retirement and went back to Greece.”

“Where in Greece? I’ve been to Athens but that’s pretty much it.”

Damen smiles. “My father is from an island called Ios.”

“How about you Nikandros?”

“Both of my parents come from Thessaloniki in the North. They immigrated here before I was born. “

Auguste nods, then looks between both boys. “What are your intentions with my brothers?,” he asks sharply. Laurent closes his eyes slowly, like he’d seen this coming. 

Both boys look startled by the question. “Uh,” Nikandros says.

“Oh my God, Auguste,” Laurent says, opening his eyes again to glare at him. “This isn’t the 1950s.”

“Young man,” Auguste says, in his Big Brother ™ voice that always means trouble. “I asked Damen and Nikandros.”

“I like him,” Damen blurts out. Everyone in the room turns to stare at him, but he only sits up straighter. “I like Laurent. I think he’s hilarious and strong and amazing, and I want to get to know him better. It’s obvious you love him a lot,” Jord is surprised to hear a bit of bitterness seep into his tone “and I understand your protectiveness. But know that I will never, ever disrespect him and his boundaries.”

Auguste blinks at the confession. Laurent is staring at Damen wide-eyed, colour high on his cheekbones.

“Christ,” Nikandros says. “You can’t do anything halfway, can you?”

Auguste laughs, and just like that, the tension in the room dissipates. Jord grins at Nikandros. 

“What about you Nikandros?,” Auguste asks, smiling.  “Have anything to confess?”

Nikandros snorts. “I’m not the dramatic one in this friendship,” he says, and earns an elbow to his side for it. He grunts. “But,” he continues, glancing at Jord “I like Jord a lot. Obviously I’d never disrespect his boundaries and he can tell me to fuck off anytime.”

Auguste smiles. “I like you two,” he tells the boys. Relief is visible in their faces. “If any of you drink, don’t drive,” he reminds them sternly. “I’d rather you call me to pick you up.”

“Of course,” Damen promises. They all get up. 

“Well have fun, you two,” Auguste says, looking at Jord and Laurent. “And remember, don’t be silly, wrap your-”

“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous,” Laurent interrupts him. He pulls Damen to the door with every last inch of his iron will. Damen follows him, looking a little starstruck. “We’re leaving.”

Auguste grins, and the wink he sends Jord is the last thing Jord sees before he closes the door behind Nikandros. He laughs.

***

Makedon’s house is huge, and Jord is pretty sure at least half of their grade is here. He and Nikandros lose Laurent and Damen pretty quickly, but Jord is not very worried. 

“At least Govart isn’t here,” Nikandros says as Jord sits down next to him on the couch, drinks in hand. Nikandros thanks him and pops his beer can open. “That won’t be pretty.”

“You never really told me what happened between him and Damen.”

“Laurent didn’t tell you?”

Jord shakes his head. Nikandros sighs and throws his arm around Jord’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what Govart told Damen exactly,” Nikandros starts as Jord makes himself more comfortable at his side and tries not to look too pleased about it. “But it was obviously very fucked up and probably had something to do with us.”

“Us?”

“His friends,” Nikandros clarifies. “Definitely Laurent. Whatever it was, it was probably very demeaning because Damen is not stupid. He’d never fight someone like Govart unless he was really pissed and couldn’t control himself.”

“That doesn’t happen often,” Jord guesses.

“No, it doesn’t,” Nikandros confirms. “Damen has always had excellent control over his temper. Not so much his tongue,” he says wryly. Jord laughs. “But he rarely gets physical, which is a blessing considering he could probably bench-press my car.”

“Did he really fight Govart’s friends, too?”

“Yes,” Nikandros says, sighing. “Apparently they tried to stop him from killing Govart.”

“I wish I could say he shouldn’t have done that but-”

Nikandros laughs. “Trust me, I know.”

A commotion by the door stops their conversation short, and then Jord hears a familiar voice over the others.

“What’s up bitches?”

Nikandros looks at him, lips thin.

“Govart,” Jord says. He needs to find to Laurent.

* * *

 

They find Laurent and Damen in the backyard, sitting down on the porch stairs. Jord pauses at their proximity. They’re not sitting together like Jord and Nikandros were, but they’re turned towards each other, knees touching, and they’re looking at each other like they’re the only people in the world. 

Nikandros sends him a look. He sees it, too.

Jord clears his throat. Both boys look up, blinking like they don’t recognize him for a moment.

“Jord,” Laurent greets. His eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Govart is here,” Nikandros says.

Damen makes a noise at the back of his throat. “Fucking hell,” he swears, getting up. “Where’s Makedon?”

“Probably sucking a dick somewhere,” Nikandros says. Jord snorts. “You need to stay away from him, Damen. You understand?”

Damen scowls. “If he starts anything-”

“I can fight my own battles,” Laurent cuts in. He gets up, but doesn’t move away from Damen. “You can’t fight him again,” he says. “Not that I doubt your prowess,” he adds with a roll of his eyes at the look on Damen’s face, “but because I’ve told you; Govart has  _ connections.  _ You can’t do this again, Damen.”

Damen deflates a little. “I trust you,” he tells Laurent. “But I still insist on Makedon kicking him out.”

“I’ll go find him,” Nikandros says, and squeezes Jord’s hand before going back inside. Jord suddenly feels like a third wheel. 

“We should go inside,” Laurent suggests. “If he finds us I want us to be around witnesses.”

Damen nods grimly. “Let’s go.”

When they get inside, Nikandros is flanking Makedon as he argues with Govart in the living room. Many of the guests have gathered around, cameras ready.

“Ah there he is,” Govart says when he sees Laurent. 

“Govart,” Laurent greets coolly. 

“I was just telling Makedon here that I need to show you something before I leave, may I?”

Laurent narrows his eyes in suspicion. Jord steps up to his side, a hand on his shoulder. 

Govart doesn’t wait for his answer. Damen, on Laurent’s other side, looks ready to start throwing punches as Govart takes out his phone. 

“I have a message for you,” Govart says, and clicks something on his phone.

“Hello Laurent,” a familiar voice comes out of Govart’s phone. Laurent doesn’t react visibly, but the muscles in his shoulder under Jord’s palm lock up.  

“It seems you have forgotten what I can do, even from inside here,” Laurent’s uncle continues. Jord’s stomach feels like it’s trying to escape through his mouth. “Your brute of a bodyguard better back off, Laurent, or he’ll be taken care off. And maybe I should contact my friends at Fortaine, should I not? Till next time, dear nephew.”

The recording ends. Nobody speaks, Laurent coiled like a spring. Damen beside him is practically vibrating with fury. People in the crowd are looking at each other like they have no idea how to react to Laurent’s creepy uncle. 

Govart smiles in that ugly, smug way of his. “That’s all, folks,” he says. “See you later.” He walks out of the house, laughing. Nobody stops him.

Someone turns on the music again -Jord hadn’t even realized it had been turned off- and people resume drinking and dancing, although most of them steal glances at Laurent occasionally.

“Laurent?,” Jord says, voice as soft as he can make it. A muscle in Laurent’s jaw twitches.

“Makedon,” Laurent says flatly. “I need a drink.”


	6. Damen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party aftermath and the promise of a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in two days bc i felt bad about my hiatus and i also rly love writing damen so!!! here u go!! enjoy my dear bisexual son. the translations for the greek are in the end notes!

“Letting you drink was a bad idea,” Damen declares as he walks to Laurent and Jord’s house, a drunk-off-his-ass Laurent clutching at his shoulders.

Laurent, after Govart’s little stunt, had been unstoppable in his mission to get shitfaced, even after Makedon, Damen, Jord, and, shockingly, Nikandros had tried to cut him off, forbidding people from mixing him drinks. Thankfully, Laurent’s inexperience and low tolerance to alcohol had eventually caught up with him, and he had asked -nay, commanded- Damen to take him home by way of a piggyback ride instead of the stifling, according to Laurent, monstrosity that was Nikandros’ car. 

Now, Damen would normally be fine with this. Laurent was nowhere near skinny -had a surprising amount of muscle actually, which pleased Damen beyond belief- but he didn’t weigh much to Damen. The problem was that inebriated Laurent was slightly more affectionate and unguarded than sober Laurent, and his face was tucked between Damen’s neck and shoulder. 

It was distracting. 

“I can practically hear you overanalyzing my actions,” Laurent says wryly, and the fact that he can still muster so much sass is unbelievably endearing to Damen. “You’ll never see me like this again, so don’t strain yourself.”

Damen tries not to think of his hands tucked under Laurent’s thighs and fails, nearly stumbling over a missing piece of sidewalk. “I’m not overanalyzing.”

Laurent snorts, and lifts his head to look at the street around him. They’re almost at his house.

“Do you think Nikandros and Jord are gonna fuck?” 

Damen, used to his vulgar mouth by now, hardly blinks at the question. “None of my business.”

Laurent snorts. “Yeah, right. Like your little soccer team won’t gossip like old ladies about it.”

“We’re not little,” Damen grumbles exaggeratedly, just to hear Laurent snicker drunkenly. “And we don’t gossip.”

“Right,” Laurent says flatly. “And I’m not a cast-iron bitch.”

“You are,” Damen says. “You have your moments, though.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No problem, your Highness.”

Laurent snuggles back in Damen’s neck again. “I like it when you call me that,” he says, echoing Damen’s text from this morning. Warmth fills Damen’s veins, fast and sweet. 

“We’re here,” he says softly, walking up their lawn. The lights downstairs are still on. 

Laurent makes a vaguely agreeing noise. Damen sets him down carefully, but winds an arm around his waist in support. They walk up to the door, and Laurent leans against Damen’s side sleepily as Damen knocks. Auguste opens the door so quickly, it wouldn’t surprise Damen if he told him he had been waiting behind it. 

“What happened?,” Auguste asks immediately as he steps aside to let Damen drag Laurent inside. He closes the door and leads the way up to Laurent’s bedroom. Damen picks Laurent up bridal style once it becomes clear his legs won’t cooperate, while August sets up the garbage can from under his desk beside his bed, just in case. Laurent protests the manhandling feebly, but he’s obviously too tired. Damen barely glances around his room, depositing Laurent on the bed instead and making to follow Auguste out the door.

He doesn’t get too far though, Laurent grabbing his hand with surprising strength.

“Wait,” he says, voice quite clear for his state. Auguste gives them an odd look. 

“I’ll give you two a moment,” he says, more to Damen than Laurent, and leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Damen sits down on the bed carefully. Laurent is looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“What my Uncle said-,” Laurent starts. Damen sees red at the mention of his uncle, but breathes in through his nose and forces himself to not clench his fists where they’re resting precariously close to Laurent. 

“Laurent, you don’t have to-”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Laurent continues. His eyes are fully closed now, but he rests a hand lightly on top of Damen’s. Damen’s pulse is loud in his ears. 

“I know,” Damen says softly. “Me neither.”

Laurent opens his eyes again and sits up on his elbows. Damen protests but Laurent ignores him, snaking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss.

Damen freezes. Laurent draws back and lies down again. 

“Am I that bad?,” he tries to joke, but it comes out too flat. Damen swallows roughly.

“No,” Damen says, pulse still thundering from the hand on his own and the feeling of Laurent’s soft lips on his. “But you’re drunk,” he reminds him. “We can try it again when you’re sober, if you want.”

Laurent says nothing for so long, Damen wonders if he’s asleep, but then he murmurs, “I don’t deserve someone like you.” It’s so quiet, Damen thinks he’s not supposed to hear it.

“You deserve the world,” he says, too honest and too raw, but Laurent is actually asleep now, hand slack where it’s still resting on Damen’s. He picks it up and kisses his knuckles before putting it down and leaving the room.

Auguste is waiting for him in the living room. Damen sits down across from him heavily. 

“What happened?,” he asks again, tense. The expression looks foreign on his face, like he’s not used to showing his worries outwardly.

Damen pulls out his phone and opens the Recordings app. He clicks play. 

Auguste tenses like a livewire touched his spine the moment he recognizes his uncle’s voice, but he says nothing, listening to the recording in its entirety. The recording ends, and Damen puts his phone away. 

“Govart came to the party,” Damen explains, gritting his teeth. “And played this in front of everyone. I had enough presence of mind beforehand to record it in case it was something...incriminating.”

“You need to send this to me,” Auguste says firmly. He gets up from the couch and starts pacing. “I need to contact our lawyers. This is a direct threat to Laurent’s person, and to you, both still minors. Govart should be punished, too, for associating with him,” he adds as an afterthought, jaw clenched. 

“Laurent doesn’t know I recorded it,” Damen says. When Auguste turns to look at him quizzically, he explains, a little self-consciously. “I don’t think he wanted anyone to hear that, much less have it recorded somewhere, so I didn’t tell him.”

“You should,” Auguste says. The corner of his mouth tweaks up. “Tomorrow, though, when he’s actually coherent.”

“He….was unstoppable once Govart left.”

Auguste’s face turns grim again. “He never drinks. He’s more shaken than he lets on, even to me.” He looks about 20 years older now, face tired and drawn. Damen aches with sympathy. “Thank you,” Auguste adds with a sincere look. “For taking care of him.”

“I care about him,” Damen says simply. Auguste smiles, some light returning in his eyes. 

“I can tell,” he says. “Stay here tonight, Damen. We have a guest room we never use. I don’t want you to walk home this late. I know you won’t be in any danger,” he smiles ruefully, gesturing at Damen’s general….well, everything “but it’ll make me sleep easier.”

“You really don’t have to-”

Auguste waves his protest away. “Of course, I do. Stay here. Otherwise,” he continues, wry amusement filtering his tone “when my brother inevitably remembers his drunk shenanigans, he’ll avoid you forever.”

Damen tries not to let the hurt he feels at that show on his face, but he must fail judging from the amused but sympathetic look Auguste casts him. 

“Stay the night,” he insists. “The guest room is on the other side of the washroom from Laurent’s room. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He claps Damen on the back and goes up the stairs. 

Damen stays where he is for a moment, trying not to fixate on the kiss or his fury at Govart and Laurent’s uncle, and then goes up to his room for the night, desperate to sleep this night away.

***

When Damen wakes the next morning, his face is smushed into his pillow, his eyesight partly impeded by his curls. His mouth doesn’t taste as bad as it would have if he hadn’t elected not to drink for Laurent’s sake, and cool air is hitting his bare back, so he must have thrown the sheets off during the night. 

Also, there’s someone in the room. 

He turns on his back slowly. Laurent is staring down at him, fully dressed and fresh from a shower. He doesn't look the least hungover.

He tracks his eyes down his body lazily, but his back is ramrod straight. “Good morning,” he says wryly. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

Damen raises himself up on his elbows. He doesn’t miss the way Laurent’s eyes track the movement of his abs. He doesn’t feel shy or self-conscious, despite being in just a pair of black boxers (he knows what he looks like, alright?) but he feels like he’s being thoroughly dissected and examined.

“I see hungover you is just as cranky as sober you,” he says, and Laurent flushes. Damen grins at him and swings his legs over the bed. He gets up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Put some clothes on,” Laurent says, turning away. His voice sounds odd. “Breakfast is almost ready and I will not save any of Auguste’s pancakes for you.”

Damen smiles, and tries not to let it show in his voice. Laurent still has his back turned to him. “Could I use your shower first or is that not allowed, your Highness?”

The tips of Laurent’s ears pink. “That’s “your Majesty” to you,” he corrects. Damen gives a booming laugh at the difference between Laurent’s reply from last night and this reply. “But yes, you may.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.

Damen grins again, a small bubble of hope expanding in his chest, and goes to take a shower.

***

When he gets downstairs, showered and dressed in last night’s clothes, Laurent, Jord, and Nikandros are sitting around the kitchen island while Auguste dishes out chocolate-chip pancakes. Auguste smiles when he sees him. 

“Good morning,” he greets warmly, pulling out a seat for Damen. Damen tries not to show how charmed he is, but he fails, if the wry, amused look on Nikandros’ face is any indication. Laurent is staring resolutely down at his plate. He’s not eating yet.

“Good morning,” he greets the table at large. Jord is shoveling pancakes in his mouth at a truly alarming speed, Nikandros looking on fondly. 

He swallows before answering Damen though, which Damen is grateful for. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Well,” Damen says, murmuring his thanks as Auguste fills his plate with perfect-looking pancakes. “How about you?”

Jord’s cheeks redden. Damen smiles slowly. 

“I see,” he says. “Το’κανες το θαύμα σου χθες, μεγάλε;,” he asks Nikandros. His friend glares at him.

“Shut up,” he replies, a faint blush on his cheeks, which is all the answer Damen needs. He bites into a pancake to avoid embarrassing him further and moans promptly. 

“These are so good,” Damen compliments as Auguste finally sits down on Laurent’s left. Auguste grins at him. Laurent is eating now, eyes still on his plate. 

“Thanks man,” Auguste says, digging into his own food. “My only specialty.”

Laurent snorts. “That, and burned water.”

Damen laughs. “How can you burn water?”

“You can’t,” Laurent says wryly, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. Damen loves that expression on his face. “Auguste can.”

“Asshole,” Auguste says fondly. 

“Don’t worry,” Nikandros says. “It’s a big brother thing. Kastor can’t cook either.”

“Your brother?,” Auguste asks interestedly. Nikandros shakes his head. 

“Damen’s half-brother.” Everyone except Laurent, who does not react visibly, looks surprised at that.

“I can’t imagine you having an older brother,” Jord says. 

“He’s 9 years older than me,” Damen says.

“And a grade-A asshole,” Nikandros supplies. Damen sends him a warning look.

Nobody presses him for a clarification, although Damen call tell they’re curious. He sighs and sets his fork down before he bends it. 

“My ex-girlfriend cheated on me with him,” Damen reveals. Understanding dawns on Jord’s and Laurent’s faces.

“Jokaste,” Laurent says. 

“She apologized. He has yet to even remotely seem regretful about it,” he says bitterly. His relationship with his brother is not a topic he likes to linger on.

“Damn,” Auguste whistles. “Truly a grade-A asshole.” Something beeps in his pocket. He takes out his phone and checks it, sighing. “I have to go,” he says, depositing his plate in the sink and going upstairs to change. 

“Must suck to be an andrologist,” Nikandros notes after Auguste ruffles everyone’s hair - Damen and Nikandros are both nearly taller and larger than he is, and it should be ridiculous but it just makes Damen feel warm- and practically runs out the door. Jord nods and gathers the rest of their plates, scrubbing them down quickly before putting them in the dishwasher. 

“Well,” Jord starts, the tips of his ears reddening, “we’re going upstairs.” He grabs Nikandros’ hand and tugs him up. “Don’t kill him,” he tells Laurent with a nod towards Damen. Laurent rolls his eyes. Damen whistles at Nikandros, which earns him the middle finger. 

“I thought uh Auguste didn’t allow...,” Damen says, gesturing to where Jord and Nikandros had been a minute ago. 

“Teenage boy hormones are unstoppable,” Laurent says. He’s looking at Damen very intently.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Laurent says simply. “What happened last night?”

“How much do you remember?,” Damen asks just to stall him. His heart thumps painfully in his chest with the phantom-memory of lips on his. 

Laurent has not looked away from him. “It’s kind of blurry after I forced you into a piggyback ride.”

Damen can’t help but smile at that. “You were a very cute koala bear,” he reassures him, and he’s rewarded with the sight of Laurent’s flushed cheeks. “Well I took you upstairs and put you to bed, then came down and told Auguste what happened. He offered me your guest room for the night.”

Laurent purses his lips. “That’s it?”

Damen looks at him; hasn’t really stopped, but now he really looks. “You kissed me,” he admits finally. 

Laurent’s expression doesn’t change very much, but his eyes flash. “Did I?,” he wonders softly. That tone screams  _ danger. _

Damen nods. His hands twitch against his thighs and he has to clench them into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch. “I told you we could try again if you were sober. And willing.”

Laurent remains stony-faced. 

Damen gets up and tries not to sigh in disappointment; Laurent has every right to do this after all. “I should go get the rest of my stuff,” he said, suddenly grateful he hadn’t brought his phone and wallet down with him, just so he could have this excuse now “I need to get going.”

He goes upstairs to retrieve his stuff and when he returns Laurent is standing up at the foot of the stairs, hands clasped behind him. Damen descends to meet him hesitantly. 

“I’ll consider kissing you sober,” Laurent starts and Damen has to consciously stop himself from reacting to that “if you take me on that first date we talked about.”

And there’s that faint pink flush again, high on his cheekbones. Damen lets himself grin, slow and big and warm, and the flush gets darker. 

He doesn’t think about his next action, which is to reach up and trace the blush on one of the cheeks with the back of his pointer finger. The way Laurent goes completely rigid brings him back to himself and he drops his hand. He forces himself to move past Laurent and turns back only when he’s by the door. 

“I’ll text you with date details,” he promises. Laurent’s face is still flushed. 

“I wait with bated breath,” he deadpans.

Damen smiles helplessly. “No Nikandros to glare at your back this time, I promise.”

The corner of Laurent’s mouth twitches up for a moment. Damen steps out of the house with warmth and affection glowing in his chest like stars.

* * *

Monday at school is….interesting to say the least.

Nobody really talks about Govart and what he did -not where Govart, Damen, or anyone else directly involved can hear at least- but Damen watches as most of their classmates congratulate Laurent on “being fun”. Apparently, when he was getting drunk off his ass, he had managed to make friends.

Laurent deals with all the attention stiffly, but he doesn’t lash out at anyone. Damen has yet to text him about the date, mostly because he’s lost on what to do. He wants this to be special. Maybe he should admit defeat and text Jord or Auguste and needle them. 

On second thought, maybe not Auguste. Too embarrassing and it would make Laurent uncomfortable.

“Alright, alright settle down,” Guion says, walking in the classroom hurriedly. “I have an assignment for you.” He sets his stuff down on his desk and pulls on his tie a bit with a venomous glance at Laurent. Just being in the room with him makes him uncomfortable, apparently.

Good. 

Guion ignores the groaning that follows his announcement and pulls out two different piles of paper. He starts handing them out. “I'd like you all to write your own version of Shakespeare's Sonnet #141.”

More groaning, and louder this time. Damen is tempted to join in himself. Writing is not his strong suit.

“Don’t care about form or rhyming,” Guion continues, reaching Damen’s aisle. “You just have to elaborate on his theme. Let’s read it aloud.” He returns to the front. Damen looks down to avoid eye contact. A deeply ingrained survival tactic in high school at this point. “Anyone?”

No one speaks. Guion sighs -not sounding particularly surprised- and picks on one of the kids in the back. 

The rest of the school day goes by, and Damen would be bored out of his mind if he didn’t have a game to look forward to after school. He is lacing up his shoes when Makedon sits down beside him. 

“How’s Laurent?,” he asks in a low, concerned voice. 

“He’s doing okay,” Damen says. He hopes it’s true. 

Makedon shakes his head. “I ought to have kicked that motherfucker out the moment he stepped through my door,” he grumbles. He’s already in full uniform, his jersey stretched tight over his chest. “The shit that went down...not cool man.”

Understatement of the year. “I know. It’s being taken care of.”

“Good. I like him, you know.”

Damen looks at him. Makedon barks out a laugh and slaps him upside down the head.

“Not like that, you fucking dolt,” Makedon reassures him while Damen rubs his head.  “I’d never steal your man. I like him in a brotherly kind of way. He’s prickly and vicious like a chihuahua on the warpath but he’s good, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Damen agrees, shoulders relaxing. “He is.”

Makedon grins and gets up. “He’s out in the stands with Jord by the way. Nikandros thought you should know.” He leaves with a shit-eating grin.

“He’s not my man!,” Damen yells belatedly. Damen is pretty sure he can hear Makedon laughing at him, even over the ruckus of the crowd outside. He sighs and finishes tying his shoes before getting up. His team has a game to win.

***

And win the game they do. Damen’s body is thrumming with adrenaline and exhilaration even as he knows bruises are forming on his body. Makedon nearly kisses him right in the middle of the field. 

“I fucking hate you,” Damen says, shaking him off with a laugh. Makedon stumbles away and laughs in return, pointing him and Nikandros towards the stands. 

Both boys finally manage to extricate themselves from the team and the steady stream of supporters coming onto the field to congratulate them and jog in Jord and Laurent’s direction. Jord rushes onto the field and right into Nikandros’ arms. Damen looks away when they kiss. 

“You stink like a boys’ locker room,” Laurent says when Damen turns to look at him. Damen hangs his head theatrically to hide his smile. 

“And I thought you were here to congratulate me,” Damen says, looking up again. He’s wearing a white button down with frills all down the front and long sleeves. On anyone else it would look ridiculous but Laurent looks like royalty. 

“Congratulations,” he says, eyes softening. “You did great.” 

Damen beams at him. “Thanks.” He glances off to the side as Orlant with Lazar and Pallas in tow approach them. They stop by Jord and Nikandros first to congratulate Nikandros (and for Orlant to tease Jord from the looks of it) and then they make their way over.

“Hey guys,” Orlant says. He casts Laurent a searching look, then turns to Damen. “Congratulations, man. You were a beast out there.”

“It’s true, dude,” Lazar says. “I’m fucking grateful I got to be on the same team as you.”

Damen warms at the compliment. “Thank you, guys.”

Pallas hugs him, despite how sweaty he is. “I had no idea what was going on like half of the time, but you were amazing.”

Damen laughs and lets him go. “Thanks, Pallas.”

“You guys going to the afterparty?,” Orlant asks.

Damen doesn’t have to look at Laurent to know the answer to that.

“Nah,” he says. “I don’t really feel like partying.”

When he glances over at Laurent, he’s looking right at him. 

“Me neither,” Laurent says.

Orlant shrugs. “Suit yourselves. We should hang out soon, though. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time, Laurent.”

Laurent finally looks away from Damen. “Yes, we should,” he says. He sounds sincere. “How about I pick you up for school tomorrow so we can talk?”

“Alright,” Orlant agrees. “It was good to see you, guys.” They all leave with parting waves, and then Damen and Laurent are alone again. 

“I’m going to go take a shower and then if you want we could...do something?,” Damen suggests. Laurent tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Sure,” he says. “Go make yourself smell like a human again.”

Damen laughs. “Alright. Nikandros, you coming?”

Nikandros finally detaches himself from his boyfriend and walks away. Damen meets him in the middle and slings an arm over his shoulders. 

“Νομίζω είμαι ερωτευμένος,” Nikandros tells him seriously before they reach the changing room. 

Damen laughs. He doesn't say  _me too_ , but he's pretty sure Nikandros already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damen: "το'κανες το θαύμα σου χθες, μεγάλε;" = literally translates to "did you do your miracle last night, big guy?", roughly translates to "DID U DO HIM"
> 
> Nikandros: "Νομίζω είμαι ερωτευμένος" = "I think I'm in love"


	7. Laurent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen and Laurent go on dates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this chapter is a little big! i got carried away writing laurent so ....enjoy
> 
> special appearance by a real life celeb! if ur reading this i love u

“What kind of friend  _ are  _ you?”

Jord looks up at him calmly. “An excellent one.”

Laurent scowls at him. They’re both in Laurent’s room, deciding what Laurent should wear for…

For his date.

God Almighty.

Jord rolls his eyes. “Laurent, you could straight up show up in a garbage bag and Damen would still look at you like you hung the moon.”

“Well I might just do that,” Laurent says, turning around so Jord doesn’t notice his cheeks blaze at the “hung the moon” comment. 

It’s Friday, and Laurent has an hour until Damen picks him up. Auguste had been ecstatic when Laurent had told him about it, and Jord had looked quietly smug, like he knew something Laurent didn’t.

“Listen, Damen said no formal wear, right?”

“Right,” Laurent confirms. “He won’t tell me where we’re going though so that’s not very helpful.”

Jord snickers and gets up to stand beside Laurent. “He wants to surprise you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Laurent reminds him. 

“You’re going to love this one,” Jord says. “Trust me. Go sit down. I’ll pick something for you.”

Laurent huffs but obeys.

***

“Laurent! Damen is here!,” Auguste calls. Laurent, in the middle of applying mascara, startles so bad he smudges his nose.

He hisses while Jord laughs at him. “He’ll be right down!,” he yells, then laughs at Laurent some more. Laurent scowls at him and wipes his nose. 

“You’re so nervous,” Jord says in wonder. “Is it because it’s your first date ever or because it’s Damen?”

Laurent doesn’t answer. He twists the mascara closed and casts his reflection a critical look. 

“You look great,” Jord says. “Maybe I should be a stylist.”

Laurent rolls his eyes, but agrees. He has a blue button down on, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and left unbuttoned to just below his collarbones, which is already the biggest amount of skin he’s ever willingly showed in public. He has a sapphire earring on, too, because Jord insisted it would look good, and his hair is loose, although it’s slightly too hot for it. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says, before he can do something ridiculous like give himself a pep talk or something. 

“You’ll be fine,” Jord says, because he knows him much better than Laurent gives him credit for. “You’ve been alone with him before, remember? You still haven’t told me what you two did after the game.”

Laurent flushes. They had gone to the swings by Damen’s house (it was closer to the school than his own) and just….talked, but Laurent had never felt more at ease in his life. Damen was easy and fun to talk to and around him Laurent felt…

Safe.

“None of your business,” Laurent sniffs. “I don’t ask about you and Nikandros.”

Jord grins evilly. “You really do not want the details. Unless you want to know what Nikandros does with his m-”

Laurent practically marches straight out of the washroom and down the stairs. Auguste and Damen are sitting in the living room but Damen jumps up when Laurent comes into the room. 

“Laurent,” he says, and then seems unable to go on.

“Hello,” Laurent says, pleased. Auguste is smiling like a fool. He gets up, too, and comes to cradle Laurent’s face into his hands.

“My little baby, off to destroy people,” Auguste says, pretending to weep.

Laurent pushes him off. “Don’t quote  _ Mulan  _ at me.” He and Jord -who has caught up with Laurent- laugh. 

“Can’t help it,” Auguste says, still grinning. “Have fun, you two. Be back by midnight.”

“What am I, Cinderella?,” Laurent asks, affronted. 

“You’d make a very pretty Cinderella,” Auguste says. Laurent rolls his eyes and grabs Damen’s hand. It’s very soft and warm. He pulls him to the doorway. Damen goes easily.

“We’re leaving,” Laurent states to the room at large. 

“Midnight, Laurent,” Auguste insists. “That’s not up for debate.”

Laurent opens the door and huffs. “Fine, midnight. Goodbye.”

“Have fun!,” Jord calls. Damen unlocks the doors of his car and they both get in. Auguste waves as Damen backs out of the driveway, and then they’re off.

“So,” Laurent starts after a quiet moment. Damen is dressed similarly to Laurent, except his button down is black, and he’s wearing a small diamond cross earring. His hair is pulled up in the bun he favours.

He looks good.

He always looks good.

He grins. “I’m not telling you where we’re going.”

“Why all the secrecy? I’ll find out soon anyway,” Laurent reminds him. 

“Exactly,” Damen agrees. “So just be patient."

Laurent rolls his eyes and turns to stare out the window.

“You look really good, by the way,” Damen says. Laurent’s eyes are drawn back to him. Damen is still looking straight ahead. 

Laurent considers him for a moment, then makes a split-second decision and puts his hand on his thigh, just above his knee. Damen goes very still.

“You, too,” Laurent says truthfully. He watches, half-amused, half-curious, as Damen swallows thickly. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes one hand off the steering wheel to cover Laurent’s hand. The gentle gesture warms Laurent like nothing else.

“I’m still not telling you where we’re going,” Damen says, laughter in his voice. Laurent groans.

***

“You’re ridiculous,” Laurent grumbles. 

They have arrived...somewhere, and Damen is leading him with a hand in his and a hand over his eyes. There are a lot of people around them, mostly young and mostly feminine-sounding and Laurent would feel more nervous about being pulled around blindly if it wasn’t Damen doing the pulling. When did Laurent start trusting him so much? He’s not sure he likes it.

“We’re almost at our seats,” Damen reassures him.

“Seats? Are we watching a movie? Why so much secrecy for a movie?”

“We’re not watching a movie,” Damen denies. “We’re watching a concert.”

Laurent freezes. Damen pulls him gently. He starts walking again. “A concert?”

“Yes. Ah, here we are.” They turn, presumably down an aisle, and then he’s being pushed into a seat and the hand over his eyes lifts. Laurent blinks.

They’re in a decent-sized venue, crowded with people their age and early twenties. They’re in front row seats, right in front of the stage.

Laurent looks at Damen as he settles into the seat beside him. “Who are we seeing?”

Damen grins at him. “You’ll see.”

“Good evening, lovelies,” a familiar, ethereal voice says into the microphone. Laurent’s head snaps up. He stops breathing.

“We’re Florence and the Machine, and we’re thrilled to be here tonight. Let’s get started.”

Laurent looks at Damen. He’s watching Laurent in return. 

“You didn’t.”

Damen smiles. “I did.”

Laurent turns to look back at the stage as Florence ( _ Florence! _ ) finishes setting up. He reaches out and threads his fingers through Damen’s. His stomach feels weird. 

***

The concert is over.

Florence has stopped singing, and Damen is leading him backstage. 

“You have passes?,” Laurent asks, voice strangled. He hopes Damen didn’t notice. He clears his throat.

“They don’t offer many for smaller venues but I managed to snag a couple,” he says. He shows their passes to a staff member, and they’re waved in. 

Florence Welch greets them backstage with a gentle smile. “Hello. First concert?”

“Yes,” Laurent says. He can’t stop staring at her. 

Florence smiles. “How does it feel?”

“Great. You were amazing out there.”

“You’re his favorite,” Damen says. Florence looks between him and Laurent for a moment, then smiles knowingly. 

“I’m honoured. Do you want to take a picture?”

***

When they finally get out of the venue, it’s dark, and the street is mostly void of people. Laurent takes a deep breath. 

“It’s eleven thirty,” Damen informs him, looking down at his phone. They’re still holding hands. “We’ll be right on time.”

Laurent can only nod. Damen unlocks his car and they both get in, Damen insisting on buckling up their seatbelts before he drives off. Laurent lets him.

He knows his silence is making Damen nervous, but he has...something to think about.

He sneaks a glance at him. Damen looks calm, his face illuminated by the street lights. He looks good and what he did tonight for Laurent…

This was no ordinary first date.

Laurent wants to kiss him. 

They reach Laurent’s home in complete silence. Damen parks the car and turns to him. He looks worried.

“Is something wrong? I thought you liked the concert.”

Laurent unbuckles his seatbelt and leans up and forward. He rests one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his broad chest, his lips inches away from Damen’s. Damen’s breath hitches. Laurent can feel his heart racing under his palm. 

“I’m sober right now,” Laurent says quietly. 

Damen looks down at his lips. “I know.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Damen nods, but doesn’t move, so Laurent closes the distance between them.

He barely remembers their first kiss, but he already knows this one is better. Damen’s lips are soft, and they part easily when Laurent licks the bottom one. The sound Damen makes urges him forward, and he slides into his lap, even though the car is almost too small for their position. 

He really, really doesn’t care though, especially when, encouraged, Damen finally rests his big hands on Laurent’s hips and kisses back with a hot, unhurried rhythm.

He’s the first to break away, leaning his head back on the headrest. Laurent runs a hand down his neck and lets it rest at the base, where he can feel his racing pulse.

“Laurent,” Damen says roughly. Laurent shivers. “We should stop before Auguste comes outside and kills me.”

Laurent snorts and manoeuvers back into his seat. He feels hot all over. He really should have put his hair up. “Way to ruin the mood,” he says, and he’s proud that his voice sounds normal.

Damen laughs. Laurent’s lips twitch at the corners. “Sorry,” Damen says, not sounding sorry at all. “But I’d rather be alive to take you to prom.”

Laurent blinks at him. Damen flinches. 

“Shit. I didn’t mean for that to come out. I wanted to do a proper promposal.”

“I would have said no,” Laurent says. “But now,” he continues, rubbing his thigh just to feel him tense under his palm “I’ll consider it.”

“Because of the concert?”

“Because you are the kindest man I’ve known,” Laurent says truthfully. “What you did for me tonight was…” He trails off, swallowing. Damen looks at him like he wants to kiss him again, so Laurent leans up and does just that. When they part, Damen touches his forehead against his. 

“Mm,” he hums. “I’ll never get tired of that.”

“Next date is on me,” Laurent says softly, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Damen.”

“Goodnight, Laurent.”   
  


“ _ Laurent de Vere _ , spill everything,” Auguste commands the moment Laurent is through the door. Laurent raises his eyebrows and looks around the living room. Jord is there, along with Orlant and Lazar, but no Nikandros. He’s probably waiting to interrogate Damen. 

“I see the Inquisition is all here,” Laurent quips, and sits down on the couch beside Jord. Auguste takes the armchair. 

“You knew he was taking me to see Florence and the Machine,” Laurent accuses, looking at Jord, then Auguste. They both grin.

“Yes, we did,” Auguste confirms, unashamed. “Did you like it?”

Laurent sighs. “It was  _ Florence and the Machine, _ Auguste. Of course I did.”

Orlant coos. Laurent reaches over Jord to slap his leg. 

“Fuck you,” he says happily. Orlant flips him off.

“This feels like a motherfucking romcom,” Lazar says. “Did you guys kiss?”

Red blooms on Laurent’s cheeks before he can stop it. Jord fist-pumps the air. “Pay up,” he tells Auguste.

“You bet on me?,” Laurent seethes. Auguste rolls his eyes and slaps a twenty in Jord’s hand. 

“Lighten up, brother,” Auguste says. He slaps a twenty in Lazar’s and Orlant’s hands each. Laurent narrows his eyes. 

“You bet _ against  _ me?”

“I underestimated Damen’s charm,” Auguste says. Orlant snorts. 

“He said he wants to ask me to prom,” Laurent says. No one in the room looks surprised.

“Duh,” Jord says flatly. “Obviously.”

“I told him I’m taking him on our next date.”

Now they do look surprised. Auguste smiles.

“I’m happy for you,” he says softly. “I really am.”

Laurent looks down at his knees. “I know. I am, too.”

* * *

“How’s that poem going?”

Laurent glares up at Jord. He’s in his own room, trying to come up with something that doesn’t sound hopelessly cheesy. He keeps typing and then deleting everything and honestly, he’s getting sick of poetry. 

“I see,” Jord says when Laurent doesn’t answer. He sits down on the bed beside him. “You got anything at all so far?”

Laurent sighs with more patience than he thought he actually has. “No.”

“Do you know what it’s going to be about?”

Laurent hesitates. “...Damen.”

“Oh my God! That is adorable.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles. He can feel his face get warm. “I can hardly write it about Guion. He’s uninspiring and I’m becoming predictable.”

Jord snorts but doesn’t comment on the blatant falsehood. “Okay, so this shouldn’t be too hard. Damen is an uncomplicated man.”

“On the contrary, he’s very complicated.”

“Well then write something about that then. You can hardly stand up there and declare your undying love. It doesn’t feel very you and I’m pretty sure Govart and Damen will get into a fistfight when Govart inevitably opens his mouth to comment on it.”

Laurent looks at him. “No, I can’t declare my love. But I can declare something else.”

Jord raises his eyebrows in question.

“Hate.”

“You lost me.”

“That was one word.”

“And I still don’t know what the fuck you mean.”

“You don’t need to,” Laurent says, already turning back on his blank Word document. “Get out of my room. I’m writing.”

“Yes, boss,” Jord grumbles, but leaves easily enough.

Laurent starts writing.

****

“Where are we going?,” Damen asks for the 500th time. 

Laurent bites his lip to keep quiet. He’s currently leading Damen into their city’s biggest soccer stadium. Damen had mentioned once that he remembered it from when he and his father used to come and throw a ball around, and he had sounded so wistful.

So here Laurent is. 

Leading a blindfolded Damen while holding a giant gym bag with their soccer stuff inside.

“Just a little more,” Laurent finally promises. They walk to the center of the field. Damen is frowning, like the grass under his feet feels familiar. “Okay.” He makes him stand still, then goes around him to untie the blindfold.

Damen doesn’t say anything for a long time. He stares around the empty stadium as Laurent comes to stand in front of him. It’s Saturday again, one week after their first date, and Auguste had narrowed his eyes at the lateness of the hour, but he had been too excited for Laurent’s idea to care too much, even though Laurent had point-blank refused to film Damen’s reaction.

“This is illegal,” Damen finally says.

“Yes.”

“You took me to an empty stadium for our second date.”

“Yes.”

“So we can fool around like children.”

“You can act like a child all you want, I’ll kick around the ball I brought very maturely.”

Damen smiles in that big, slow way of his that makes Laurent feel like a warm puddle of goo. “You’re wonderful,” he says warmly. “Can I kiss you?”

Laurent tips his head up in answer. Damen cradles his face in his palms for a moment before kissing him softly. Laurent makes a small noise.

Damen pulls back but doesn’t move very far. His hands settle on either side of Laurent’s neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m going to kick your ass.”

Damen grins again. “Bring it.”

***

Embarrassingly, Laurent is forced to admit defeat one brutal hour later. He’s fast, and he’s good at soccer, but Damen’s defense is impossible to break through (he’s  _ one man _ how can this be so difficult?) and his footwork is  _ amazing. _

He wants to, quite literally, lie down and die, but Damen would laugh at him forever so he refuses to get any lower than his hands on his knees.

Damen has no such qualms. He’s sitting down on the grass, legs spread wide, and practically inhaling one of their water bottles. His shirt is off. Laurent absolutely loathes him.

“Stop seething in silence,” Damen says, putting the cap back on the bottle. “Come here.”

“I’m not seething.” He makes no move forward.

Damen smirks up at him. “Yes, you are. Come here. Would you like me to feed your ego?”

Laurent straightens up and raises his eyebrows imperiously. “I’m listening.”

“You were amazing,” Damen starts. “Your footwork is unconventional and unpredictable and fucking exciting to play against, and you have great reflexes. Also I was almost too distracted by your butt in those yoga pants. I thought you should know.”

“Pervert,” Laurent accuses. He plops down on the grass beside him. 

Damen smiles at him like he was the one that fed Damen’s ego. Laurent kisses him. 

And then pulls back to grimace. “Fuck, too sweaty.”

“Are we breaking in the locker rooms, too, or?”

“I thought we could skip that much illegal stuff for our second date. Let’s consider that for our fourth or fifth.”

“Fourth or fifth, huh?,” Damen echoes, pleased. Laurent flushes and gets up. He doesn’t offer Damen a hand. 

“Laurent…,” Damen starts, following him up. Laurent looks at him as steadily as he can.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Laurent blinks. He expected a jibe for his flushed cheeks or some kind of shower innuendo, not...this.

He should know not to expect anything when it comes to Damen. 

Damen, who’s still waiting for an answer.

“I’m doing illegal stuff for you,” Laurent says, grabbing his hand. “Yes, I want to be your boyfriend,” he says, when it becomes clear Damen wants to hear him say the words. He beams and bends down to kiss him.

Laurent stretches up to meet him and promptly forgets the sweat on their bodies when Damen brings him closer with one strong arm wrapped around his waist. His mouth opens slightly under Laurent’s, and Laurent licks into it, trying to get closer, closer, closer-

He yelps, a sound he’ll deny vehemently later, as Damen picks him up clean off the ground. He puts his legs around his waist and squeezes with his thighs. He’s rewarded with a moan against his mouth. 

They break apart for air. Damen’s lips are red and wet and devastating. 

“I should probably take you to your car before we get caught.”

“That’s half the fun,” Laurent retorts. Damen sends him a look under his lashes that’s probably not meant to be seductive but damn it if it doesn’t work. 

Laurent sighs like he’s not massively turned on. “Fine. You mind letting me down?”

“Yes, actually,” Damen says, putting him down anyway. “Can you take me home so I can kiss you in my driveway?”

Laurent snorts. “No,” he lies, and leads him out the way they came, sans blindfold this time.

* * *

 

Laurent half-expects Damen to prompose to him in public with a boombox or something, like the actual cheeseball Laurent knows he is, but Damen surprises him yet again.

It’s Monday lunch, and Laurent is in the library, looking for this sonnet Guion is going on and on about. Maybe if he reads the actual thing he’ll have a better idea of what to write, because although he has a general idea, he’s starting to realize that poetry is not his strong suit.

He can’t find the book though, so after a few minutes of looking around, he goes up to Pallas, the student manning the front desk. 

“Oh hey, Laurent,” Pallas greets, beaming. He’s very pretty, with dark curly hair and big dark eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“Hey, Pallas. I’m looking for this book,” he slides the note he’s written the title on forward. Recognition lights Pallas' face.

“I have it right here,” he says, and pulls the book out from under the desk. There is a note protruding from the pages.

He grabs the note with a suspicious look at Pallas, who just smiles serenely. The note only reads “Will…”

“What is this?,” Laurent asks. 

“The beginning of a question, I think,” Pallas says, and Laurent just knows he’s in...whatever this is.

“And where is the rest?”

“In the other books,” Pallas says simply. “You have to find those yourself though. I suggest you find them before the end of lunch.”

Laurent looks at him incredulously for a moment, then when it becomes clear Pallas won’t be forthcoming with anymore information, he huffs through his nose and turns around to go through the shelves. 

He finds the “you” tucked into a book about soccer, the “be” nestling in “Bad Feminist”. The “my” is tucked into a book about Alexander the Great. 

He can’t find any more words, and when he turns around the corner at the end of the library, he finds out why. 

It’s because Damen has them. 

“Will you be my prom date?,” Laurent asks out loud. “This is quite excessive even for you.”

Damen smiles. He’s sitting against one of the study tables, the “prom” and “date?” signs taped on either side of him, and a red rose in his hand. “Is that a complaint?”

“No,” Laurent admits, and sets the notes down on the table. He’s standing very close to Damen, but he doesn’t make a move to touch him. He knows now that’s Damen’s way of showing him that he has the reins.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t appreciate me serenading you like a 90s romcom,” Damen says. 

“That’s true,” Laurent concurs. “How did you know I was going to be at the library today?”

“Jord told me,” Damen says. He sets the rose down and caresses Laurent’s cheek. “I had to work a little fast but Pallas helped.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Laurent declares fondly, leaning into the touch. Damen fingers the end of his braid. 

He seems to register the fondness in Laurent’s tone. He smiles. 

“You didn’t answer me, you know.”

“I know.”

“So, Laurent de Vere, will you be my prom date?”

Laurent smiles helplessly. “Yes.”

Damen kisses him. Laurent responds so enthusiastically they push the table back a few inches and then he’s lifted off the ground and sat on it. 

“You love throwing me around, don’t you?,” Laurent wonders. Damen rolls his eyes.

“I love having you in my arms. Not my fault you’re so small.”

Laurent pinches his bicep. Damen yelps. “I’m not small. It’s a matter of scale, standing next to you.”

Damen grins. “You like it.”

Laurent snorts and pulls him down for a kiss. A throat clears somewhere behind Damen. He pulls away to look up.

Pallas is standing a few feet away, trying to hold back a smile. “I’m happy for you guys but the library is closing. You should probably get to class or just go somewhere else to make out.”

“Thank you, Pallas,” Damen says, helping Laurent get off the table which is ridiculous because Laurent’s feet are already touching the ground. He’s seriously not  _ that  _ small, damn it. “You’ve been really helpful.”

“Did you say yes?,” Pallas asks. Laurent nods and he smiles. “Wonderful. You guys are great together.”

“Thanks Pallas,” Damen says, sounding amused. He takes Laurent’s hand and turns to look at him. 

“So, class or somewhere else to make out?,” he asks, and he is definitely amused. 

“Let’s go home,” Laurent says, resting a hand on Damen’s lower back. “You haven’t seen my bedroom yet.”

“Mr. de  _ Vere _ ,” Damen laughs, mock-scandalized. Laurent rolls his eyes and pulls him out of the library, pretending his cheeks aren’t bright red.

* * *

 

“I wish I could come with you,” Auguste sighs. Laurent rolls his eyes and adjusts his suit. 

He’s getting ready for prom and his room is crowded; Jord, Orlant, Lazar and Auguste are all sitting on his bed, watching him. Jord, Orlant and Lazar are all ready, but Jord is the only one that looks nervous. Laurent tries to draw strength from that; if calm, unshakeable Jord is nervous, he should probably nervous, too. 

Not that he shows it.

“I’ll be fine, Auguste. My objective for tonight is simple; humiliate Govart and make him wish he had never crossed me.”

Although his Uncle’s message was a point in Laurent and Auguste’s favour in court, their lawyers had made it quite clear that they’d need more than that to make sure their Uncle didn’t get out for an even longer time. Laurent was planning to confront Govart and make him confess to his involvement and his Uncle’s…..everything. Jord was tasked with recording duty; Laurent had been less than pleased when he heard about Damen’s initiative but he had to admit it had been very,very useful, so he didn’t complain about recording everything this time. Damen and Nikandros were both unaware of this plan because they tended to be more physical during confrontation and Laurent didn’t want to have to worry about Damen’s physical health while trying to destroy Govart’s emotional health. Not that he has much of it anyway.

“And get in Damen’s pants,” Orlant stage-whispers. Lazar snickers. Laurent throws them both a dirty look through the mirror. 

“I just don’t want you anywhere near him, ever,” Auguste says. 

“I know, Auguste, but I’ll be fine. You know what I can do.”

Auguste nods, but he doesn’t look much pacified. “Better than anyone.”

“Then stop worrying,” Laurent commands, and turns around, spreading his hands. “How do I look?”

“You know you look better than all of us already,” Orlant says. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I don’t fish for compliments,” Laurent denies, although he’s pleased; he put a little effort in his look today. His suit is dark blue, he has forgone the tie in favor of leaving his (very) light blue dress shirt unbuttoned a bit and his hair is in a tight, sleek ballerina bun on the back of his head. Long silver raindrop earrings hang from his ears and he had been liberal with his use of highlighter, while his eyelashes are long and dark with his usual mascara. 

“You’re full of shit,” Lazar says fondly. Laurent flips him off just as the doorbell rings. 

Auguste grins and shoves past him to go open the door. Laurent stares after him while the others cackle. 

“I swear he’s more in love with Damen than you are,” Orlant says, getting up with the others to follow Auguste. Laurent flushes.

“I’m not in love with Damen,” Laurent counters. His friends roll their eyes in creepy unison and practically shove him out the door. Laurent pats his pockets to make sure he has his keys, wallet, and ticket, and follows them with just an irritated huff. 

Damen, Nikandros, Pallas, Erasmus, Isander and surprisingly Jokaste are all waiting just inside the door. They all clean up well of course. Laurent’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight of Damen in a suit. He’s not wearing a tie either, and his shirt is tight so Laurent can quite clearly see the shape of his chest and his collarbone. 

Damen looks up then and meets his eyes. He beams and leaves the group, meeting him at the base of the staircase. 

“You look amazing,” he says warmly, taking hold of his hand and lifting it to his mouth. He drops a kiss on each knuckle. 

Laurent can feel himself flush. He’s faintly aware of everyone staring and whispering not-so-quietly about them, but his eyes are stuck on the tilt of Damen’s mouth and his eyes, kind and warm and sweet like honey. 

He can’t help but stretch up a bit and kiss the corner of that mouth he was looking at. “So do you.”

Damen looks absurdly pleased at that. Laurent’s mouth quirks up.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s get this show on the road,” Nikandros booms, clapping his hands. “Damen, Laurent, Jokaste and Jord are with me, Orlant, Erasmus, Isander and Lazar are with Pallas, because he is a lucky bastard.” Jokaste slaps his arm at that, but Nikandros barely flinches. 

Auguste grins, his eyes looking suspiciously shiny. 

“If you start crying I’m never speaking to you again,” Laurent threatens. 

“Dickhead,” Auguste says fondly. Laurent makes an indignant sound as his brother lunges forward to sweep him into a bear hug. Damen looks like he’s making a valiant effort to not laugh. 

Auguste sighs, tucking Laurent’s head under his chin. “Have fun and be safe, okay? I love you.”

“I love you,” Laurent says in return, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll be fine.”

When Auguste lets him go and Laurent finally looks up, Damen looks slightly suspicious.

Damn it.

“Okay, time to go,” Laurent says, as smoothly as he can, but Damen’s eyes narrow further. Why is he so perceptive? It pisses Laurent off sometimes.

The others don’t find anything weird with him though, the lot of them spilling out of the door and clambering into their cars, eager to be on their way to one of the last experiences of high school, ridiculous as it might be. Laurent and Damen are the last to step out, Auguste catching Laurent by the hand. 

His eyes are serious again, and his grip is firm. “Call me if anything happens,” he commands in a low voice, and even though Damen can most definitely hear them, he’s looking away towards their friends like he’s trying to give them privacy. 

His heart warms. He clears his throat. “I will.”

Auguste finally lets him go and Damen takes his hand silently, guiding him to Nikandros’ car. They tuck themselves in the back with Jokaste, so snug her hair tickles Laurent’s nose when she moves. 

“You look amazing, Laurent,” Jokaste compliments him with a smile. Laurent remembers how coldly he had treated her when they first met and feels very embarrassed. 

He simply casts a thorough look up and down her body in response. Her dress is long, with an impressive slit on the side, and silver-blue that compliments her complexion and her hair, which is loose and wavy down her back. 

“You, too,” he returns. She grins, wide and sly. 

“That’s why I’m coming,” she explains.

“To stunt on these hoes,” Nikandros deadpans from the front. Jord makes a weird, wheezing sound that’s probably laughter. Damen’s body shakes with suppressed giggles.

“Exactly,” Jokaste says, just as flatly, before she laughs. “I didn’t go to prom last year because I was too busy fucking Damen’s brother, so.”

“Jesus, Jokaste,” Nikandros hisses. 

Damen snorts. “It’s alright, Nik. I’m over it.”

“Yes,” Jokaste agrees, side-eyeing Laurent with a smile. “He is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, please leave kudos/feedback!! thanks for reading xx


	8. Laurent II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> laurent: bossassbitch.mp3  
> damen: i know this, and i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot begin to apologize enough for the time it has taken me to post this chapter but i had to work through a huge writer's block and moving out for uni! im a uni student now! im dead busy but i was inspired to write more damenlaurent so here i am
> 
> the story ends here. after this is only an epilogue and the tenth chapter is a surprise ;) the epilogue will likely be in laurent's pov again since this is essentially his story but the tenth chapter might be in damen's pov because i love my alive bisexual son
> 
> as always leave kudos/feedback! enjoy y'all!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: implied racism, police abuse of power. not quite police brutality i suppose, but just. cops being shitty. also of course discussion of laurent's horrible uncle, so be wary of that.

Laurent groans and resists the urge to hunch down in his seat as the song changes.

Nikandros and Damen cheer. Nikandros immediately jumps up and drags Jord away to dance, a laughing Jokaste dragging Isander with her to film the whole thing.

Damen turns to him, smiling.

“Gasolina?,” Laurent complains. “Really?”

Damen gasps, mock-offended. “How dare you mock European party culture!”

Laurent rolls his eyes. “Isn’t Daddy Yankee Puerto-Rican?”

“Yeah,” Damen says, shrugging. “But this was one of THE songs to dance to at Greek parties. Still is, actually.”

Laurent sighs. Damen’s arm comes down to rest on the back of Laurent’s chair with a familiar look on his face. 

“No,” Laurent says.

“Come on, Laurent, let’s go dance!,” Damen pleads. His grin is infectious; Laurent is having a hard time biting back his own smile, even with his task looming over his head like a cartoon storm cloud.

“I don’t dance.”

“Laurent!,” Jord calls, from where he and Nikandros are dancing with the rest of the group. Nikandros is actually pretty good, but Jord is flopping around like an eel. “Come on!”

Damen grins and gets up, taking a hold of him.

“Damen-,” Laurent warns, then yelps when Damen pulls him up without even trying. 

“I hate you.”

Damen grins. “No you don’t.”

The song blessedly changes to something slower, and everyone pairs off, leaving Laurent free to wrap his arms around Damen’s massive shoulders. Damen tugs him closer by his hips, and they lean against each other. Laurent can’t help but sigh.

“So,” Damen murmurs, nosing along his temple. “You’re gonna tell me what you’re planning?”

Laurent manages to not stiffen, but only barely. “No.”

“Laurent…”

“Damen,” Laurent says in the same tone. “Just trust me.”

Damen is silent for a moment, and then “I do. Always.”

The ice that has been lodged in Laurent’s sternum since his middle school days thaws out a little more at those words. He swallows. “Good.”

***

Laurent realizes immediately when Govart enters the ballroom because he and his clique are louder than usual. He looks up and Govart sees him, making a beeline for him with a sick smile on his face.

Laurent straightens and lets go of Damen, who immediately understands and puts a supportive hand on Laurent’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he whispers, before going to stand beside Nikandros and Jord. His friend gives him an encouraging nod.

“Govart,” Laurent greets. Govart comes to a stop in front of him.

“Govart,” he repeats, in a nasally imitation of Laurent. His goons laugh. “Such a whiny bitch. The fact that you’re still standing here is fucking maddening.”

Laurent smiles viciously. “Isn’t it? Does it make you angry, the fact that I won’t bend like my uncle wants me to?”

Govart sneers. “You did, once.”

Angry noise erupts behind Laurent, and he hears Nikandros holding back Damen but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t flinch either, even though his palms are starting to sweat.

“And you, more than once, and willingly.”

Despite the noise, his voice carries and everyone stops, shocked at his words. Govart’s goons look at each other, wide-eyed. Govart turns purple in the face.

“You fucking-”

“You’re not denying it,” Laurent points out, still smiling. He hopes Jord has started recording.

“I’ve always hated you,” Govart spits, anger in every inch of his face.“So when he gave me an opportunity to antagonize you, I took it.”

“Antagonize me!,” Laurent echoes, incredulously. “How exactly were you supposed to do that?”

Govart shrugs, smirking. He looks so sure of himself, like nothing -and no one- can touch him. “He suggested threatening your friends, the people closest to you,turning the whole school against you.  Easy things.”

“Mhmm,” Laurent hums. “And how is that working out for you? How many people in this room do you think would choose you over me?”

He is under no illusion the student body likes him, but he is lucky in that they hate Govart even more.

But would they choose Laurent over him? Govart is more physically intimidating than Laurent is, built like a brick wall. And not many know about their physical altercation, where Govart ended up with a broken collarbone. Not many know of Laurent’s skills.

“Oh please, de Vere,” Govart scoffs. “You think because you were a drunk slut once you have friends here? I have support you don’t.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “My uncle.”

Govart gives him an ugly smile. “A full ride to your favorite university. Do you still intend to go to Fortaine?”

“What in the name of God is going on?”

Laurent resists the urge to groan as Guion steps into their wide circle. He turns on Laurent, sweat gathering at his temples. “Laurent de Vere, explain yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, sir,” he responds, smiling angellically. Which is true anyway. Guion wouldn’t have even noticed their stand-off if it were anyone else involved. “I’m just making Govart confess to aiding an imprisoned criminal and recording it.”

Govart’s expression changes so quickly Laurent nearly laughs. “You what?”

Laurent blinks at him. “You didn’t know? Everything you’ve said so far is going straight to my lawyers.”

And that’s how Laurent de Vere officially ruins prom.

****

Well okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. It’s not his fault Govart took his words as an invitation to lunge at him.

It’s not his fault he had to defend himself and break Govart’s nose.

And it’s not his fault an enraged Damen broke away from his friends and threw Govart away from him, triggering a brawl which literally everyone in the banquet hall joined.

But it’s his fault he was arrested for punching an officer after they arrested Damen.

At least he convinced the officers to put them in the same cell. Little good is it doing though since Damen refuses to look at him, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Laurent sighs. “Damen,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

Damen turns his dark, angry eyes on him. The look on his face would be really frightening if Laurent didn’t know him so well by now. “Oh, now Mr. de Vere wants to talk,” Damen says sarcastically, and the tone is so unexpected from him Laurent just blinks for several seconds.

“Damen-”

“No,” Damen cuts him off sharply, jumping to his feet with the intensity of his emotions. He looks huge,his presence filling the cell. “You want to talk? For once in your life, listen. What you did was reckless.”

Laurent gets up, too,eyes narrowing dangerously. “Reckless?”

“Picking a fight with Govart in front of an entire school,in front of the people that support him? In front of Guion? And then engaging in a physical fight with him? Yes, it was reckless!”

“I was just defending myself,” Laurent says, voice growing cold. Damen, talk about recklessness? “You’re the one that couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

Damen’s eyes widen with indignation and his jaw sets. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch him hit you! I love you!”

Laurent stills. Damen realizing what he just said, stills too. 

“You…,” Laurent swallows around the knot slowly forming in his throat, his heartbeat loud in his ears. The truth is written plainly all over Damen’s face, but still, he has to ask. “You love me?”

They stare at each other for a moment, and just as Damen’s about to speak, the cell door clags open. They both turn to look at the blank-faced officer.

“You’re both free to go,” they say, gazing at them indifferently, even though Laurent is evidently flushed and obviously in the middle of something. Cops are so inconsiderate. He always knew the justice system was bullshit in this country. “Your guardians are here.”

Damen pushes past him without another word, and that hurts more than his rage. Laurent follows after him, angry at himself and his emotionally-clouded thoughts, at how easily Damen has gotten under his skin. At how welcome he is there.

The sight waiting for him by the reception desk doesn’t help matters. Auguste looks mad with worry, nearly tackling Laurent to the ground the moment he sees him. Laurent is half-glad to see him, but his attention is largely occupied by the large man waiting for Damen, the resemblance hinting at his identity.

“Is that Kastor?,” Laurent whispers. 

“Yeah,” Auguste says, vague distaste twisting his mouth. “We didn’t talk much. I really didn’t see the need.”

Laurent snorts without humour. 

“Kastor,” Damen greets, his voice utterly controlled and neutral. Laurent finds he hates it. “Remembered we’re related, did you?”

Kastor scowls. He has the same colouring as Damen, but the younger brother has a few inches on him in height and more than a few in the broadness of his shoulders. But where Damen’s kindness shines out of his eyes and his usually warm smile, Kastor does not glow with the same light. Laurent finds him utterly lacking. 

“Let’s not do this here,” Kastor suggests. His voice does not ring with strength and honesty like Damen’s. He gets out without waiting for Damen’s reply, and for a moment, Damen looks so utterly dejected, Laurent unthinkingly steps forward. Damen looks up and back at him as if he heard him, and his face hardens again. He leaves without saying goodbye.

“Auguste,” Laurent says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I think I fucked up.”

“You did,” Auguste says, not giving an inch. “Also, you’re grounded. Let’s go home.”  
  


* * *

 

The de Vere lawyers take his recordings straight to court. He is thankfully not required to show up and look into his uncle’s face as he got an even lengthier sentence, although a part of him thinks he would have liked seeing the expression on it as he realized Laurent had defeated him again. His mental capacity of facing his trauma is low after confronting Govart in a public setting for the second time this month, so he doesn’t protest Auguste’s insistence on him staying behind. 

When Laurent returns to school, a couple of weeks before exams, Govart is expelled, which ruins the possibility of him getting into Laurent's choice of university, and Guion is on indefinite leave. It’s another victory.

It doesn’t feel like it though, because Damen is not talking to him.

He and Jord haven’t talked about it. He hasn’t even told him Damen said- said the words. It feels like something private, a moment shared between them only for them. He can tell Jord is a little bewildered at Damen’s obvious absence from Laurent’s side though, as well as at Nikandros’ frosty silence towards Laurent since the latter was slowly warming up to him. He doesn’t press, for which Laurent is grateful.

The day after his return, he takes a seat in English class, not paying any attention to the constant whispers about him, and pointedly not glancing towards Damen’s seat. Are they broken up? Damen had said nothing of that sort, but his silence is as strong as a stone, like the rest of him. It feels unyielding, unbreakable. 

“Alright,” the substitute teacher says a few minutes after the warning bell rings. “Your teacher assigned you something a few weeks ago, and today you’re expected to present it. Any volunteers?”

No one raises their hand. Except one.

The teacher looks down at the seating chart. “Thank you, Laurent. I’d like you to stand up, but take some time to collect yourself if you need it before starting.”

Laurent does not take a moment. He gets up and strides to the front of the class, turning to face his classmates. He meets Damen’s eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t need his notes. He has this memorized.

_ “I hate the way you look at me/ the way it lights your eyes/ I hate the way you take my breath/ I thought love was just a lie. _

_ I hate it when you laugh/ the way it breaks through my defenses/ I hate the way you burrow under my skin/ a feeling I will never shake. _

_ I hate the way you see through me/ the way you never flinch/ even when I’m cruel/ even when I have made so many others leave/ And most of all,”  _ he swallows here, unable to go on for a moment. Damen has not stopped looking at him. It might as well be just the two of them in the room. _ “And most of all I hate you/ and the fact that I don’t/ not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” _

The class is silent after he finishes. He manages to tear his gaze away from Damen when the teacher clears their throat. “Excellent job, Laurent. You may-”

They don’t get to finish their sentence because Laurent gathers his stuff and leaves the classroom, going straight to the parking lot. 

He barely has time to unlock his door before Damen reaches him, looking barely winded even though he must have run to reach Laurent this fast.

“Laurent,” he says, voice rough. Laurent’s heart races like he’s the one that run.

“Damen,” Laurent returns calmly. 

“I want to talk to you,” Damen says. When Laurent just stands there, expectantly, Damen huffs. “Not here.”

Laurent gestures to the passenger seat. “Get in, then.”

The drive to Laurent’s house is silent. No doubt someone has already called Auguste, so he’s probably in trouble, but he doesn’t really care. He parks in the garage, but doesn’t get out, and Damen doesn’t move either.

They stare at each other, air thick with tension. It’s Damen who breaks the silence first.

“I want to say I’m sorry for my outburst at the police station,” he says, holding a hand up when Laurent starts protesting. “Let me finish. You had just gone through a very emotionally exhausting event and I took out all my frustration and worry out on you and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I did, though,” Laurent says. “I should have never dragged you into-”

“I’m a big boy, Laurent,” Damen interrupts him. His eyes are so sincere, Laurent feels like his heart is being stabbed repeatedly. It’s a weird sensation. “I make my own decisions. And I will always have your back. That’s not up for debate. I don’t care how dangerous the situation is, although I didn’t appreciate having cops waving their badges and guns in my face.” He must see something in Laurent’s face because he shakes his head and reaches out tentatively to touch his hand. Laurent threads their fingers together, needing the contact an embarrassing amount. “It’s not your fault Guion called the cops. And it’s definitely not your fault cops took one look at me and only saw my skin.”

“Does it happen often?,” Laurent asks, voice quiet. He hates the thought of Damen being harassed by police officers. He’s informed enough to know that never ends well. 

“Never by an individual cop.” His smile is wry. “My size deters them. But if they happen to be in twos or more...I’ve been stalked mostly.”

Laurent scowls, but he doesn’t think a “sorry” will fix anything here. “I should have stopped them from arresting you.”

Damen raises a eyebrow. “That’s probably illegal.”

“Probably.”

Damen’s smile is brighter this time. Laurent’s heart already feels lighter because of it. “You’re a menace.”

“Almost always.”

Damen squeezes his hand. They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, until Laurent gathers the courage to say something he’s wanted to blurt out since the police station.

“Και εγώ σε αγαπώ.”

Damen’s eyes go wide, and then he smiles the most beautiful, radiant smile Laurent has ever seen. 

“Who taught you that?”

“Google translate,” Laurent admits. “Was it right?”

“A little formal, but it’s fine,” Damen says, leaning closer. Laurent can’t help the answering smile on his face, can’t help but lean in.

And nearly headbutts his boyfriend when the horn of a car startles them apart. They both look up to see Auguste’s car slide in the parking spot next to Laurent’s, his brother’s face a stony mask.

“Uh-oh,” Damen mutters.

  
  
  


Auguste stands over them, hands on his hips like an enraged mother, which Laurent supposes he kind of is. Damen’s hand is still in his, even though he looks more chasisted than Laurent. He shifts a little on the couch.

“You do remember you’re grounded?,” Auguste questions, steel in his voice.

“Yes,” Laurent says, meeting his brother’s eyes defiantly.

“And yet you still skipped school to reconcile with your boyfriend, putting your emotional wellbeing and your relationship over my authority and your academic responsibilities?”

Laurent squints at the wording of that question, but he answers in the affirmative nonetheless.

For a moment, the two brothers stare at each other, until Auguste’s angry façade crumbles and he smiles, a gigantic happy smile that makes him look younger than he is. Laurent blinks up at him, startled as Auguste bends down to hug him and kiss his forehead. 

“I’m so proud of you,” his brother chokes out, straightening up again. Laurent and Damen share a glance. 

“Auguste-”

“I thought this day would never come,” Auguste continues, looking suspiciously and frighteningly close to crying. 

“What day?,” Laurent asks hesitantly. 

“The day you’d start healing and opening up to the happiness you deserve,” Auguste says, and if there is some tearing up from both de Vere brothers, Damen is kind enough to not mention it. His hand tightens around Laurent, a grounding presence, and Laurent is pretty sure he has never felt happier in his life.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auguste Is Everyone's Dad: This Is His Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super short chapter but i rly wanted my own lil barbecue backyard party scene like the movie has so! have a totally useless chapter xx
> 
> next up is a surprise which im actually nervous but also rly excited to write. i would normally add it as a part two to this, but i wanted to have an even number of chapters soooooo.........deal with it lads
> 
> also yes, u've probably guessed by now but gasolina by daddy yankee is a masterpiece in my eyes and no slander will be tolerated. thanks in advance
> 
> as always leave kudos/feedback xoxoxo
> 
> p.s. sorry jord didn't have a lot of lines but i didnt rly know how to fit him so......whoops
> 
> EDIT: i have decided to add the surprise chapter as a part 2! coming soon xx. thanks for reading my story! loved all of ur comments!

It’s a beautiful summer evening, the final week before everyone is off to university, so Auguste has invited all of Laurent and Jord’s friends for a barbecue in their yard; Auguste, Nikandros, Pallas, Lazar, Orlant, Jokaste, Erasmus and even Isander. Auguste and Nikandros are busy competing at who can flip burgers without dropping them on the ground (Auguste is losing so far). Laurent and Damen are sitting down on the rarely-used porch swing, Laurent tucked snugly against Damen’s body. 

It’s a bittersweet gathering since not everyone is going to the same university. Nikandros is going to college here, while Damen is accompanying Laurent to Fortaine. Jokaste has already warned him about the “incoming bro moments”. Jokaste herself is also staying here since she’s in her second year of college, and Pallas has been accepted into another college in the town, Lazar close by. Laurent has no idea what Erasmus and Isander are doing. Jord is taking a year off, which Laurent suspects is mostly a front to stay behind with Nikandros. Auguste was not super happy about it but Jord is stubborn and in love, a deadly combination.

Orlant sits down beside him, a beer held loosely in his hand. Auguste is studiously pretending nobody is underage today. 

“What are you going to do Orlant?,” Laurent asks. “For college.”

Orlant shrugs. “I’m taking a year off for now and then...no fucking idea.” He glances at Laurent and Damen, smirking. “How does it feel, moving out with your boyfriend?”

Damen’s thumb sweeps down Laurent’s shoulder softly. Laurent turns his head to land a kiss on his chest. “It feels right.”

Orlant’s smirk turns into a genuine smile. “Man, this semester has been wild. Everything changed so fast.”

“Yeah, it did,” Damen agrees. “I still can’t believe it’s over.”

“Hey!,” Nikandros calls over, waving his spatula threateningly. It doesn’t really work since he’s also wearing an apron with a Minnie Mouse pattern. “No talk of endings yet! I haven’t had nearly enough beer.”

Damen raises his hands placatingly, and Nikandros goes back to bickering with Auguste. 

“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” Orlant says to Laurent. He’s not tearing up like Auguste has been doing for literally the past three months, but he looks sincere. “I’m going to try to visit you whenever I can.”

Laurent pats his arm. “Thanks,Orlant. You’re a good friend.”

They fall into a silence for a moment before Orlant speaks up again, louder this time so everyone can hear him. “Hey, does anyone know what happened to Aimeric?”

Nikandros drops his spatula.

Jokaste looks over at him, smirking, before turning to answer Orlant. “Last I heard, he switched schools and moved in with his older brother a town over. I think he’s ashamed of his father.”

“Good,” Nikandros says harshly, picking up his spatula. Jord goes over to him to reassure him. 

Jokaste approaches the porch, settling down on the steps. “I think it’s for the best he moved out,” she muses. “That school was a mess.”

“How do you know more gossip about my school than me?,” Orlant questions. Jokaste smiles.

“I have my ways,” she says mysteriously, then laughs as a familiar song comes over the speakers. 

“Laurent-”

“No,” Laurent says, but he’s laughing. “Damen, I’m not dancing to Gasolina.”

“Oh, come on, Laurent,” Orlant says, getting up. “Let’s see what you got.”

“I got nothing,” Laurent refuses. “Go away.” He yelps as Damen pulls him up and down to the yard. “I hate you.”

Damen smiles at him. “No, you don’t.”

For a moment, Laurent just stands there, watching his friends dance and laugh. Nobody is dancing seriously, but Damen is still good, a grace in his movements that should be impossible for the amount of muscles he carries.

“Don’t just stand there, Lau-Lau,” Auguste calls out, grinning from his place by the grill. Laurent just flips him off in response, which only makes him laugh. “Dance, baby, dance!”

“Fuck off,” Laurent says, and then he’s sandwiched between Damen and Jokaste, Damen grinning down at him like a fool.  Jokaste's attempts at making him dance are met with rigid resistance. Dancing is decidedly  _not_ his forte.

“That looks like my very worst nightmare,” Nikandros comments. He has abandoned Auguste with the food to make out with Jord by the fence. 

“I  _ am _ your very worst nightmare,” Laurent and Jokaste say in unison. Nikandros makes the sign of the cross at them, like he’s keeping them at bay, making Jokaste and Jord laugh. 

“Alright, fellow kids,” Auguste says. Laurent butts his head against Damen’s chest in embarrassment. “Come get your food.”

“Why does Laurent get to eat? He’s gonna _eat_ plenty later anyway,” Nikandros says, leering. Jokaste slaps him upside down the head. 

“Then I won’t eat, considering I’m already full,” Damen retorts. 

“Oh, my God,” Orlant says, mouth already full with burger. “I love you, bitch.”

“Just for that comment, you’re both grounded,” Auguste says, a pained look on his face.

“You’re not my real mom,” Damen grumbles, and then they’re both off, tumbling around on the grass. 

Laurent sighs. All the men in his life are ridiculous human beings. He leaves them to work things out and goes to get food, and when he sits down on the porch steps side by side with Jokaste, smiling into the setting sun to the beautiful sound of laughter coming from the two men he loves most in the world, he thinks this is what happiness really feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!
> 
> this idea beat me up and left me in a dark alley what seems like MONTHS ago and as i write this note i havent figured out the ending but i want to finally get this out there so uh, here goes
> 
> the fic, as you've probs already guessed, deviates from the movie. i have however borrowed several quotes from the movie so shoutout to the screenwriter and also shakespeare, the OG
> 
> ALSO there are three povs: laurent's, jord's and damen's, each chapter a diff pov. next up is jord!
> 
> don't hesitate to leave kudos and/or feedback!! thanks for reading xx
> 
> p.s. title taken from f+tm "no light, no light" because that's a laurent song if i've ever heard one


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